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THREE    YEARS 

IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 

BY   E.    W.    LOCKE. 

AUTHOR  OF  THE  POPULAR   SONGS,   "DOWN  BY  THE   SEA,"  "I  FEEL  I'M 

GROWING  OLD,  LIZZIE,"  "THERE'S  A  FRESH  LITTLE  MOUND  NEAR 

THE  WILLOW,"  "HEAVEN  OCR  HOME,"  "HAS  FATHER  BEEN 

HERE?"   "SWEET  CHILD  OF  THE  GLEN,"   "KITTY 

MANEE  THE  QUADROON,"  ETC.,  ETC.,  ETC. 


Bear  witness,  our  sires,  beneath  the  turf  Bleeping, 

Forever  your  flag  shall  wave  spotless,  untorn ; 
Your  long- rusted  swords  from  scabbards  are  leaping, 

To  follow  and  smite  where  our  banner  is  borne. 
While  Bunker's  spire  guards  its  patriot  ashes, 

While  Lexington's  grandsons  have  arms  to  be  nerved, 
While  foam  from  the  sea  o'er  Plymouth  Hock  dashes, 
The  Union,  it  must  be,  it  shall  be  preserved,  — 
The  Union,  the  Union,  the  Union  forever! 
The  bond  of  our  fathers  no  treason  shall  sever : 
The  star-spangled  banner  shall  ever  wave  o'er  us,— 
From  fortress  and  steeple  reecho  the  chorus,  — 
Hurrah  I  hurrah  I  the  Union  forever  I 


BOSTON: 

GEO.  D.  RUSSELL  &  CO.,  126  TREMONT  ST. 
GENERAL   AGENTP. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1870,  by 

E.   W.  LOCKE, 
In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


PEEFACE 


.     ^  / 


THIS  book  is  published  more  especially  for  Mends  and 
acquaintances,  many  of  whom  may  be  found  in  nearly  every  town 
in  the  Northern  and  Western  States.  Having  met  with  most  of 
the  "boys  in  blue"  in  the  Army,  delivered  many  thousand 
temperance  lectures  in  different  States,  devoted  from  two  to  four 
months  to  almost  every  important  political  campaign  since  1856, 
and  sung  for  more  than  a  million  of  children  in  the  Public  and 
Sabbath  Schools  of  the  country,  it  will  be  seen  that,  for  a  man 
of  medium  gifts,  I  am  very  extensively  known. 

I  am  well  aware  that  the  sphere  I  have  occupied  is  regarded  by 
most  people  as  a  humble  one.  It  is  common  to  commend  humil- 
ity, as  an  abstract  virtue,  but  to  pass  by  the  one  who  practises  it. 
The  mass  of  mankind,  though  destitute  of  claws,  seem  born  to 
climb.  The  boy  is  not  out  of  his  skirts  before  he  climbs  to  the 
top  of  the  highest  fence  he  can  find ;  anon  he  seeks  a  tree,  jthe 
house,  if  not  the  chimney,  top.  The  builder  must  watch  his 
staging,  or  the  boys  are  astride  the  ridge  before  the  roof  is 
boarded.  Men  climb  above  each  other  all  through  life ;  and  the 
constant  aim  of  most  men  and  women  is,  not  to  enjoy  what  they 
have,  but  to  stand  higher  than  their  neighbors.  To  get  to  the 
head  in  the  school-room,  to  be  an  officer  in  the  town  or  some 
society,  —  in  short,  to  be  ahead  and  attain  distinction,  seems  to 
be  one  of  the  leading  characterist-V-s  of  many  of  our  race. 


jv  PREFACE. 

In  my  Bible  and  Sabbath-school  books  I  early  learned  the 
beauty  of  humble  serving ;  and  thirty  busy  years  of  manhood, 
spent  mostly  with  those  in  the  humbler  walks  of  life,  in  an  earnest 
endeavor  to  minister  to  their  wants  or  pleasure,  have  demon- 
strated that  this  virtue  is  not  only  beautiful,  but,  like  most  others, 
a  paying  one.  It  returns  luxuries  money  will  not  purchase. 
In  the  following  pages  there  is  more  about  the  common  soldiers 
than  officers,  for  the  reason  that  I  spent  most  of  my  time  with 
this,  the  working  class  of  an  army. 

Though  mainly  for  friends,  if  others  see  fit  to  purchase  the 
book  they  will  have  my  gratitude.  In  giving  the  language  of 
different  persons,  uttered  from  five  to  ten  years  since,  I  cannot, 
of  course,  pretend  to  strict  accuracy.  If  those  who  have  been 
quoted  shall  find  any  fault,  they  will  please  excuse;  for  it  has 
been  my  aim  to  be  strictly  truthful,  and  that  I  have  been  nearly 
so  I  am  the  more  confident,  inasmuch  as  my  memory  is  very 
retentive  and  accurate. 

The  songs,  with  music,  scattered  through  the  book,  are  some 
of  those  most  sung  by  the  soldiers.  I  am  asked  for  them  by 
members  of  the  Army  whenever  met.  The  entire  book  will  cost 
less  than  these  songs  alone  in  sheet  music.  Those  without  music 
are  inserted  for  such  as  take  an  interest  in  simple  ballad  poetry. 

In  conclusion,  I  will  say  that,  in  all  my  intercourse  with 
officers  and  men  in  the  Army,  with  political  committees  and 
politicians,  with  Sabbath-school  superintendents  and  scholars, 
with  school-teachers  and  pupils,  and  with  clergymen  and  their 
vestrymen,  my  intercourse  has  been  of  the  pleasantest  character. 
I  have  met  with  but  one  class  of  public  servants  who  have  left 


PREFACE.  v 

very  painful  impressions.  I  refer  to  the  higher  officers  of 
prisons.  If  I  should  ever  present  the  public  with  another  book, 
it  will  be  on  the  prisons  of  our  cquntry.  In  JefFersonville, 
Indiana,  there  is  a  Prison  Warden  who  tries  to  carry  the  spirit 
of  Christ  into  his  every-day  work.  His  Chaplain,  the  Rev. 
Mr.  Sullivan,  is  a  meet  companion ;  and  the  prisoners  love 
them  as  they  would  their  fathers.  But  observations  made  in  a 
large  number  of  these  institutions  compel  me  to  say  these  men 
are  exceptions. 

I  am  sensible  of  many  blemishes  in  composition.  Some  of 
them  shall  be  removed  in  future  editions.  But  the  book  was 
not  written  for  critics ;  and  if  it  shall  be  found  to  any  extent 
enjoyable,  and  shall  pay  the  uncritical  reader  for  his  time  in 
perusing  it,  I  shall  be  content. 

THE  AUTHOK. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 
CHAPTER   I. 

INTRODUCTORY.  —  SINGING  IN  THE  ARMY      .        .         .         .11 


CHAPTER  II. 
NEAR  THE  RAPPAHANNOCK 36 

CHAPTER  III. 
UP  THE  SHEXANDOAH  VALLEY       ......       56 

CHAPTER   IV. 
HOSPITALS .71 

CHAPTER   V. 
Two  NIGHTS  UNDER  GUARD 90 

CHAPTER    VI. 
THE  SEVEN  DAYS'  FIGHTING  BEFORE  RICHMOND          .         .118 

CHAPTER  VII. 
INCIDENTS  IN  CAMP  AND  ON  RETREAT 140 

CHAPTER   VIII. 

SUBSISTENCE 160 

(vii) 


viii  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  IX. 

WOMEN    IN    THE    AKMT 181 

CHAPTER   X. 
CHAPLAINS 202 

CHAPTER  XI. 
BOXES  AND  LETTERS  FROM  HOME 234 

CHAPTER   XII. 
NIGHT  AND  DAY  TKAMPS  IN  TENNESSEE        .'  254 

CHAPTER  XIII. 
BRANDT-STATION,  MARCH,  1864 275 

CHAPTER  XIV. 
MONEY-MAKING  IN  THE  ARMY 295 

• 

CHAPTER  XV. 
SPIES * 313 

CHAPTER   XVI. 
SPIES  —  Continued -  .333 

CHAPTER  XVII. 
THREE  QUADROONS  AND  THEIR  MOTHER       ....     348 


CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER   XVIII. 
MASS-MEETING  IN  SPRINGFIELD,  ILLINOIS 


MUSIC. 

Hark!  To  Arms       .... 
We're  Marching  down  to  Dixie's  Land 
"We're  Marching  on  to  Richmond     . 
"We  must  not  fall  back  any  more 
Brother,  When  will  you  Come  Back? 
The  long  Night  is  Ending 
Swinging  around  the  Circle      .         . 
And  so  will  the  Boys  in  Blue  .        • 


34-35 
116-117 
138-139 
158-159 
200-201 
232-233 
346-347 
372-373 


THREE   YEARS 

IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 


CHAPTER    I. 

INTRODUCTORY. SINGING    IN    THE   ARMY. 

HOWEVER  little  the  world  may  prize  the  singer  or 
the  musician,  music  seems,  on  very  many  occasions, 
nearly  indispensable.  It  has  a  wonderful  charm  for 
most  persons.  Hand-organs  do  not  go  out  of  use 
like  "  one-hoss  shays  "  and  velocipedes.  They  are  as 
dear  to  our  children  of  to-day,  as  they  were  to  us  in 
our  childhood.  People  who  regard  the  players  as 
beggars,  or  a  nuisance,  and  refuse  a  penny,  throw  up 
their  windows,  that  they,  as  well  as  their  children, 
may  hear  the  music.  It  forms  a  large  part  of  wor- 
ship among  most  nations  ;  and  at  festivals,  social,  po- 
litical, patriotic  and  religious  gatherings,  accomplished 
musicians  are  sought,  to  add  interest  to  the  occasion. 


I3  IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 

The  factory-girl  sings  at  her  loom,  the  blacksmith  at 
his  forge,  and  the  teamster  whistles  by  his  slowly-plod- 
ding team.  Only  at  a  quarrel,  and  a  birth,  is  music 
never  heard ;  or,  if  there  is  any  in  the  latter  case,  the 
business  is  appropriated  entirely  to  the  new-comer. 
Some  sing  before  they  can  talk,  others  never.  Some 
patronize  music  because  they  love  it,  others  because 
they  are  ashamed  to  have  it  known  that  they  have  no 
musical  taste.  Many  who  scarcely  know  one  tune 
from  another,  and  certainly  not  harmony  from  discord, 
are  liberal  patrons  of  musical  artists,  but  from  what 
motive  it  is  hard  to  tell. 

In  my  first  book  of  history,  I  read  of  ballad- 
ists  who  accompanied  armies  to  battle.  They 
told  the  story  of  the  struggle,  and  the  victory,  and 
it  took  deeper  hold  of  the  senses  than  the  words 
of  the  most  eloquent  orator.  Exquisite  ballad  sing- 
ing is  the  highest  form  of  eloquence.  In  every  age, 
events  that  have  stirred  the  hearts  of  the  people 
have  given  birth  to  innumerable  songs.  The  history 
of  any  people,  with  their  songs  omitted,  is  imperfect. 
These,  better  than  almost  anything  else,  show  their 
^thoughts  and  feelings. 

When  Moses  and  his  people  had  escaped  from  the 
Egyptians,  and  their  pursuers  had  been  swallowed  up 
by  the  sea,  they  sang  unto  the  Lord  a  song,  —  "  The 
horse  and  his  rider  hath  he  thrown  into  the  sea.  The 


IN   CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL.  13 

Lord  will  reign  for  ever  and  ever.  For  the  host  of 
Pharaoh  went  in  with  his  chariot,  and  with  his  horse- 
men into  the  sea,  and  the  Lord  brought  again  the 
waters  of  the  sea  upon  them ;  but  the  children  of 
Israel  went  on  dry  land  in  the  midst  of  the  sea.  And 
Miriam,  the  prophetess,  the  sister  of  Aaron,  took  a 
timbrel  in  her  hand ;  and  all  the  women  went  out 
after  her,  with  timbrels  and  with  dances.  And 
Miriam  answered  them,  Sing  ye  to  the  Lord,  for  he 
hath  triumphed  gloriously ;  the  horse  and  his  rider 
hath  he  thrown  into  the  sea." 

Sitting,  in  my  childhood,  on  the  knee  of  some  vet- 
eran of  the  Eevolution,  I  could  always  win  a  more 
tender  embrace,  and  start  the  tears  from  his  dim  old 
eyes,  by  singing,  "The  Taxation  of  North  America" 
It  had  some  fifteen  eight-line  stanzas,  yet  once  singing 
seldom  sufficed  :  it  took  him  back  to  the  days  when  he 
fought  at  Bunker  Hill,  and  suffered  at  Yalley  Forge. 
Through  childhood  and  youth,  I  ever  had  day-dreams 
of  marching  with  armies,  to  fight  for  some  loved  prin- 
ciple .  I  never  heard  the  Marseillaise  without  wishing 
to  spring  into  the  ranks  as  a  soldier,  and  fight  to 
overpower  some  wrong.  But  when  war  came  upon 
us,  it  found  me  unfitted  for  military  duty,  having  been 
disabled  by  a  fall  three  years  previously  ;  and,  though 
being  able  to  walk  quite  well,  going  to  the  field  as  a 
soldier  or  an  officer  was  out  of  the  question.  Think- 


I4  IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 

ing  there  might  be  something  for  me  to  do,  I  wrote 
Senator  Wilson  asking  for  an  appointment,  however 
humble,  assuring  him  that  my  services  should  be 
rendered  without  expectation  of  pay  or  honors.  His 
answer  was  that  he  knew  of  no  place  for  me.  This 
was  mortifying,  and  made  me  indignant.  Other  men 
obtained  situations  with  pay  and  honors.  I  asked 
for  neither,  and  was  refused.  Yet  if  there  should  be 
a  serious  war,  as  many  predicte'd,  there  might  be  a 
place  in  the  hospital  before  the  end. 

I  determined,  then,  to  ask  for  an  appointment  in  the 
civil  service,  under  Mr.  Lincoln,  for  he  had  prom- 
ised me  at  his  home,  in  Springfield,  assistance,  at 
any  time  it  mjght  be  needed.  With  a  straightforward 
letter  from  Mr.  Washburn,  then  Governor  of  Maine, 
in  which  my  qualifications  and  services  were  duly 
set  forth,  I  proceeded  to  the  White  House  for 
an  office.  If  Mr.  Lincoln  should  forget  his  promise, 
here  was  my  Governor's  letter  to  intercede  for  me  ;  if 
that  failed,  here  were  the  signatures  of  a  good  part  of 
the  Maine  delegation.  Who  had  a  better  chance  for 
an  office?  Arriving  at  the  marble  building,  there 
was  no  sentinel  to  pass  at  the  outer  door ;  and  any 
one  who  had  business  with  the  President  could  pass 
through  the  hall  into  the  large  waiting-room  on  the 
left,  send  his  card  into  the  smaller  room  beyond,  by 
a  messenger  in  attendance,  take  a  seat  among  the 


IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL.  15 

crowd,  who  have  mostly  come  for  an  office,  and  in  due 
time  he  will  be  admitted. 

Until  I  saw  the  crowd,  and  watched  their  anxious 
faces,  and  overheard  the  importunities  of  each  to  the 
other  for  help,  begging  this  one  to  turn  awhile  for 
the  sharpening  of  his  axe,  when,  in  due  time,  the  fa- 
vor should  be  reciprocated  with  large  interest,  I  was 
elated.  But  the  office-seekers  disgusted  me,  and  the 
letter  to  the  President  was  torn  up  at  once.  Yet  it 
would  be  pleasant  to  speak  with  him.  Waiting  for 
iny  turn  to  go  in,  there  was  an  opportunity  to  study 
my  companions .  One  wanted  the  collectorship  of  New 
Orleans.  But  what  had  he  done  to  merit  such  a  fat 
office?  Some  extraordinary  thing  out  in  Illinois,  for 
the  Republican  party ;  and  Mr.  Lincoln  could  not  be 
so  ungrateful  as  to  deny  his  request.  He  claimed 
that  he  had  expended  a  number  of  hundred  dollars 
for  the  party ;  and  how  was  he  to  get  his  pay,  but  by 
an  office?  Another  wanted  a  berth  at  Niagara  Falls, 
connected  with  the  Customs.  Another  wanted  to 
supplant  Gen.  Bulger,  of  Baltimore,  who  purchased 
army  supplies.  Another  claimed,  that  by  his  zeal, 
money,  and  tact,  he  had  carried  a  doubtful  county  in 
Pennsylvania,  and  nothing  short  of  a  good  paying 
office  would  satisfy  him.  Here  was  one  from  Illinois, 
who  had  been  a  Democrat  all  his  life,  fighting  side  by 
side  with  John  A.  Logan.  But  now,  as  John  had 


1 6  IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 

gone  to  fight  the  rebels  of  the  South,  he  wanted  to 
fight  the  rebels  at  home  ;  and,  to  do  it  successfully, 
he  must  have  a  good  paying  office .  n  O  shame  !  where 
is  thy  blush?  "  I  was  ashamed  of  my  company,  and 
ashamed  of  myself,  without  looking  in  one  of  the 
great  mirrors  that  hung  in  the  room. 

Taking  my  memorandum-book,  looking  a  few 
minutes  at  the  anxious  crowd  of  patriots,  and  in- 
cluding myself  in  the  number,  the  following  dog- 
gerel was  pencilled  while  waiting  for  my  turn  :  — 


Noble,  patriotic  men ! 
Maimed  and  scarred  in  bloody  strife ; 
Loving  country  more  than  self, 
Leaving  all  more  dear  than  life ; 
Counting  thousands  spent  as  nought, 
Willing  yet  to  dare  and  do  ; 
w  Give  an  office,  Uncle  Abe, 
Then  we'll  be  as  good  as  new. 

w  Think  of  us  while  on  the  stump, 
Braving  Democratic  hail ; 
Think  of  speeches  we  have  made, 
And  the  tons  we've  sent  by  mail ; 


IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 

Still  there's  fearful  work  to  do, 
Stopping  Democratic  foam ; 
Give  an  office,  Uncle  Abe, 
Then  we'll  join  the  guards  at  home. 

"  We  have  brothers  in  the  war, 
Or,  at  least,  our  wives  have  some ; 
If  we're  wanted  we  will  go, 
When  the  time  to  draft  shall  come ; 
Let  those  go  who  like  the  fun, 
We  have  other  work  to  do ; 
Give  an  office,  Uncle  Abe, 
Then  we'll  put  the  rebels  through." 


At  length  the  President  was  ready  to  hear  my 
business.  Who  that  looked  at  the  care-worn  man 
sitting  at  his  desk,  pen  in  hand,  could  but  pity 
him,  and  wonder  why  any  one  should  ever  desire  such 
a  position  as  his  ?  The  weight  of  a  nation  was  on  those 
small,  round  shoulders  ;  the  lives  of  tens  of  thousands 
in  those  thin  hands.  Men  of  humble  life  sleep  the 
whole  night,  and  wake  refreshed,  their  faces  showing 
no  line  of  care ;  at  the  setting  of  the  sun  they  lay 
down  their  responsibilities  with  their  tools,  and  give 
the  evening  to  recreation.  Not  so  with  that  weary 
servant  of  the  nation,  who  watches,  prays,  and  works, 


iS  IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 

while  others  sleep.  And  yet  I,  like  others,  had 
come  to  take  up  his  time.  Giving  his  hand,  and 
saying  he  recollected  me,  he  asked  what  he  could 
do  for  me. 

" I  want  no  office,  Mr.  President;  I  came  to  ask 
for  one,  but  have  changed  my  mind  since  coming 
into  this  house.  When  it  comes  to  turning  beggar,  I 
shall  shun  the  places  where  all  the  other  beggars  go. 
I  am  going  to  the  army  to  sing  for  the.  soldiers,  as  the 
poets  and  balladists  of  old  sang  in  war.  Our  sol- 
diers must  take  as  much  interest  in  songs  and  sing- 
ing, as  did  those  of  ancient  times.  I  only  wished 
to  shake  hands  with  you,  and  obtain  a  letter  of  rec- 
ommendation to  the  commanding  officers,  that  they 
may  receive  and  treat  me  kindly." 

"I  will  give  you  a  letter  with  pleasure,  but  you 
do  not  need  one ;  your  singing  will  make  you  all 
right." 

On  my  rising  to  leave,  he  gave  his  hand,  say- 
ing,—  "  God  bless  you, — I  am  glad  you  do  not  want 
an  office.  Go  to  the  army,  and  cheer  the  men  around 
their  camp-fires  with  your  songs,  remembering  that  a 
great  man  said,  "  Let  me  but  make  the  songs  of  a 
nation,  and  I  care  not  who  makes  its  laws." 

Calling  me  back,  he  said  it  weuld  be  necessary  to 
procure  a  pass  at  the  Provost-Marshal's,  on  Twenty- 
first  Street,  which  could  be  done  on  the  recommen- 


IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL.  ^ 

dation  of  Senator  Merrill,  or  any  of  the  members 
from  Maine,  and  that,  with  the  object  in  view,  there 
would  be  no  difficulty  in  reaching  any  of  the  armies, 
East  or  West. 

Procuring  a  cork  bed,  which  could  be  rolled  up 
and  slung  like  a  knapsack,  and  getting  out  a  large 
edition  of  my  songs,  with  music  as  well  as  words,  each 
song  being  printed  on  a  large  thick  sheet,  and  sold  at 
five  cents,  I  crossed  the  Potomac  on  my  new  enter- 
prise. My  feelings  were  new  and  strange.  It  was 
attempting  something  for  which  there  was  no  mod- 
ern precedent.  When  a  minister  or  a  justice  marries 
his  first  couple,  he  can  consult  a  form,  and  commit  it 
to  memory.  If  one  were  to  give  a  concert  in  any 
town  or  city,  he  had  but  to  get  out  posters,  and  he 
could  draw  a  crowd. 

It  was  difficult  to  determine  what  to  call  myself  in 
this  new  role,  provided  it  should  be  successful. 
There  were  fife-majors,  drum-majors,  and  band-mas- 
ters ;  but  there  was  nothing  in  the  Army  Eegulations 
about  singing-masters.  It  mattered  not  that  there 
ought  to  be, — it  mattered  not  that  France  has  been 
thinking  of  teaching  singing  in  her  navy, — it  matters 
not  that  Key,  who  wrote  the  "Star-spangled  Banner," 
is  immortal,  as  well  as  Washington,  though  the  differ- 
ence in  the  position,  of  the  two  persons  is  as  great  as 
can  well  be  imagined.  Yet  mine  was  a  mission  that 


20  IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 

had  no  name,  nor  could  an  appropriate  one  be 
thought  of. 

My  first  effort  came  near  being  my  last.  I  called 
on  the  colonel  of  a  regiment  from  the  city  of  New 
York,  told  him  my  business,  and  asked  permission 
to  speak  and  sing  with  his  men.  He  gave  me  a  very 
chilling  reception,  and  was  anxious  to  have  me  leave. 
Telling  me  that  his  chaplain  could  do  all  the  speaking 
and  singing  his  men  wished  to  hear,  he  yet  said,  if 
they  wished  to  hear  me,  he  should  not  prohibit  my 
smging.  "Yet,"  he  continued,  "if  you  cause  any 
row  in  the  camp,  you  must  leave  at  once." 

Stepping  upon  a  cracker-box,  in  the  centre  of  the 
camp,  I  told  the  men  that  if  there  were  no  special 
duties  to  take  their  attention,  I  would  be  happy  to 
entertain  them  for  a  short  time. 

"  Are  you  a  tract  peddler  ?  "  says  one.  "  We  don't 
want  any  tracts, — we  make  our  own." 

I  told  them  I  would  sing  them  a  new  song  or  two, 
if  they  would  gather  about  me  and  make  an  audience  ; 
but  some  one  replied  w  that  they  had  men  in  the  regi- 
ment who  could  beat  the  world  singing,  and  that  I 
had  better  go  and  do  re  mi  to  the  country-boys. " 
They  came  from  the  city  of  New  York,  where  the 
best  music  of  the  country  was  made.  I  was  about 
leaving,  when  it  occurred  to  me  that  it  might  be  well 
to  try  a  stanza  or  two,  without  an  audience.  Before 


IN   CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL.  2l 

the  second  stanza  was  completed,  there  were  more 
than  two  hundred  men  about  me ;  and  as  I  was 
about  to  take  up  the  third  stanza,  a  Lieutenant,  a 
short  distance  away,  thinking  I  was  a  bummer,  and 
wishing  to  annoy  me,  while  at  the  same  time  he 
could  give  a  specimen  of  his  wit,  called  out, — 

"I  say,  old  fellow,  have  you  got  any  soap  to  sell?" 

"  No  sir ;  but  if  I  had  expected  to  find  a  chap  that 
needed  it  as  much  as  you  do,  you  should  have  been 
supplied." 

A  shout  was  raised  that  brought  more  than  five 
hundred  men  about  me.  It  was  a  successful  hit. 
Not  only  must  the  singing  be  continued,  but  the 
Lieutenant  came  forward  and  helped  to  sell  the  songs. 
Hundreds  of  the  men  sang  with  me,  and  it  was  al- 
most impossible  to  get  away  from  the  camp.  Even 
the  Colonel  and  surgeon  came  out  and  listened,  while 
the  officers  joined  in  promiscuously  with  the  men,  all 
singing  as  if  it  were  a  religious,  instead  of  a  military 
camp-meeting. 

This  was  uiy  introduction.  With  a  little  pluck,  and 
lucky  repartee,  my  untoward  beginning  became  a 
successful  ending.  It  would  need  another  day  to 
decide  whether  my  mission  was  to  be  a  success  or  not. 
The  second  and  third  trials  the  following  day  were 
successful,  and  I  felt  myself  a  fixture.  Eoom  in  any 
tent,  and  such  fare  as  others  had,  were  free.  I  was 


22  TN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 

wanted  at  headquarters,  at  the  band-room,  at  the 
guard-house,  and  the  hospitals.  Why  have  not  other 
and  greater  men  preceded  me?  It  was  not  only 
pleasant,  nay,  exhilarating,  but  it  paid.  My  first 
thought  was  to  organize  a  troupe  ;  but  more  mature 
reflection  told  me  I  had  better  paddle  my  own  canoe. 
The  band-masters  arranged  my  songs  for  their  bands, 
and  in  a  short  time  some  of  them  were  sung  in  every 
part  of  the  country,  both  in  and  out  of  the  army. 

I  believe  that  my  enthusiasm  never  made  me  en- 
tirely forget  myself,  but  once,  while  in  the  army.  It 
was  a  cool  day,  the  last  of  March,  or  beginning  of 
April,  when  Slocum's  Brigade,  of  Franklin's  Divi- 
sion, broke  camp  where  they  had  wintered,  a  few 
miles  southwest  of  Alexandria,  and  marched  down 
the  hill  to  take  the  cars  for  "  On  to  Eichmond,"  via 
Manassas.  The  rebels  had  retreated  from  the  latter 
place,  and  been  followed  to  the  Rappahannock. 
When  the  long  roll  was  beaten,  the  officers  of  the 
line,  and  the  men,  believed  they  were  going  where 
an  engagement  was  probable.  There  were  four 
regiments  and  a  battery.  The  96th  Pennsylvania 
headed  the  line,  its  band  playing  one  of  my  new 
songs,  and  most  of  the  men  singing  it.  I  marched 
near  the  head  of  the  column ;  and  when  we  came 
to  the  chorus, — 


IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL.  23 

O,  we're  marching  down  to  Dixie's  land, 
To  Dixie's  land,  to  Dixie's  land, 
And  our  flag  shall  wave  to  the  Rio  Grande, 
And  treason  shall  go  down, 

we  made  it  ring  out  grandly  over  the  Virginia  hills. 
Forgetting  who  and  what  I  was,  I  determined  to 
march  where  the  soldiers  marched,  sleep  where 
they  slept,  and  fight  where  they  fought,  as  soon  as 
there  was  a  spare  rifle.  My  appearance,  as  I  look 
back  to  it,  seems  comical.  But,  had  we  gone  to  battle, 
my  stout  arms  would  have  been  useful  with  the 
stretcher,  or  in  the  hospital,  as  was  found  on  very  many 
occasions  afterwards,  and  the  officers  knew  it ;  there- 
fore, they  welcomed  me. 

At  Harper's  Ferry  there  was,  at  one  time,  an  Irish 
regiment,  brigaded  with  some  New  York  troops. 
With  the  latter  I  had  become  quite  well  acquainted, 
and  spent  a  number  of  successive  evenings  'in  giving 
my  entertainments.  Passing  by  one  of  these  regi- 
ments one  evening,  an  Irish  soldier  accosted  me,  and 
wished  to  know  if  this  was  the  man  who  had  been 
singing  for  the  troops  across  the  stream,  for  a  few 
evenings  past.  Being  answered  affirmatively,  he 
said  the  Adjutant  of  his  regiment  wished  an  enter- 
tainment with  them,  the  first  evening  it  would  suit 
me.  Having  no  engagement  for  that  evening,  and 


24  IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 

being  promised  an  introduction,  I  accompanied  him 
to  the  quarters  of  the  said  officer. 

Reaching  the  tent,  and  being  introduced,  I  found 
myself  a  lilliput  with  a  giant.  Had  he  been  a  Scotch- 
man, he  would  have  been  taken  for  a  lineal  descendent 
of  William  Wallace.  But  he  was  an  Irishman,  and 
of  most  herculean  proportions.  Asking  me  if  I  could 
spend  a  short  time  with  him  and  his  friends,  and  get- 
ting an  affirmative  answer,  he  sent  out  for  the  Colonel 
and  the  chaplain,  a  Catholic  priest.  Instead  of 
sending  for  others,  and  having  the  bugle  sound  the 
"Assembly,"  as  was  customary  in  many  of  the  regi- 
ments visited,  he  commenced  questioning  me  sharply, 
thus : — 

"  Who  employs  or  pays  you  for  the  services  ren- 
dered here  in  singing?  " 

"No  one  employs  me,  sir;  and  my  pay  comes 
from  the  sale  of  music." 

There  was  something  about  the  manner  and  eye 
of  this  huge  inquisitor,  that  aroused  my  suspicion.  I 
determined  to  be  on  my  guard,  say  what  he  might. 
He  continued,  — 

"Will  you  please  sing  for  us  'the  John  Brown 
song?'" 

Knowing  that  was  the  last  song  an  Irishman  would 
would  want  to  hear,  I  said  to  him,  — 

"I  do  not  know  it,  -sir." 


IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL.  2$ 

"  What !  in  the  army  making  song-singing  a  busi- 
ness, and  not  know  the  John  Brown  song?" 

"That  is  so,  strange  as  it  may  seem.  I  have 
often  heard  it,  but  not  considering  it  a  suitable  song 
for  the  army,  never  learned  it,  and  consequently 
cannot  sing  it." 

"  Why  is  it  not  a  proper  song  for  the  army  ?  " 

"It  may  not  be  easy  to  tell  you,  further  than 
this :  There  are  a  great  many  anti-John  Brown  men 
in  the  army,  whose  feelings  might  be  hurt  by  the  song ; 
and,  being  here  to  sing  for  all,  irrespective  of  poli- 
tics, it  would  be  impolitic, — in  fact  improper, — to 
sing  the  song." 

"But,  sir,  that  is  the  verysong  we  wish  to  hear, 
and  we  do  not  care  to  hear  any  other  until  you  have 
sung  that.  Can  you  not  give  just  one  stanz&?" 

"No,  sir;  not  even  a  stanza;  is  not  one  refusal 
sufficient  ?  " 

"Unless  my  ear  deceived  me,  I  heard  you  sing 
that  song  last  evening.  To  be  sure,  I  was  twenty 
rods  away,  but  the  air  was  still ;  and  if  you  did  not 
sing  it ,  it  was  some  one  whose  voice  is  marvellously 
similar  to  yours." 

"  If  you  please,  I  will  sing  the  song  you  heard  last- 
evening.  It  has  the  tune  and  chorus  of  John  Brown ; 
but  the  words  are  no  more  alike  than  Tarn  O'Shanter 
and  Rorv  O'More." 


26  IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 

Giving  them  the  Kallying  Song,  at  the  end  of  the 
second  stanza  they  joined  and  sang  Glory  Hallelujah, 
as  lustily  as  the  best  abolitionists  from  Boston  could 
have  done.  They  were  perfectly  satisfied.  The 
Adjutant  then  acknowledged  that  he  had  endeavored 
to  entrap  me ;  that  he  suspected  I  was  a  second  edi- 
tion of  the  Hutchinson  family,  poisoning  the  young 
men  of  the  army  with  abolition  songs;  and  that, 
inasmuch  as  that  batch  of  "  namby  pambies,"  as  he 
called  them,  had  been  sent  outside  the  lines,  by 
order  of  Gen.  Franklin,  he  intended  to  see  that  I  was 
taking  their  tracks,  if  he  found  me  of  their  stamp. 

Could  he  have  looked  into  the  depths  of  my  heart, 
he  would  have  seen  every  verse  of  John  Brown  care- 
fully kept  for  every  needed  and  proper  occasion ; 
and  could  he  have  known  how  much  I  revered  John 
Brown,  though  condemning  some  of  his  rash  and 
wicked  acts,  and  how  I  loathed  such  men  as  the 
giant  before  me,  no  doubt  he  would  have  given 
me  such  a  thrashing,  on  the  spot,  as  would  have 
compelled  me  to  hang  up  my  harp  for  at  least  one 
campaign. 

Coming  from  Frederick  City  to  Baltimore,  a  few 
days  before  Banks's  defeat  in  the  Valley,  the  cars 
were  filled  mostly  with  soldiers;  but  there  were 
some  civilians  and  a  few  ladies.  In  the  crowd  was  a 
Quarter-master,  shining  in  his  first  suit.  His  cloth 


IN  GAMP  AND   HOSPITAL  .          2y 

was  of  the  richest  fabric,  and  his  buttons  bright  from 
the  mould.  He  occupied  a  seat  with  a  talkative, 
confiding  Virginia  damsel,  and  they  appeared  so 
much  pleased  with  each  other,  it  seemed  an  evidence 
that  the  stern  features  of  war  were  relaxing,  and  that 
the  time  might  not  be  far  distant  when  the  lion, 
etc. 

The  soldiers  importuned  me  for  a  song,  and  I  gave 
them  "McCLELLAN  is  OUR  MAN,"  they  joining  in  the 
chorus.  Our  Quarter-master  took  offence, —  I  had 
hirt  the  feelings  of  his  compagnon  de  voyage.  Ad- 
dressing me  very  pompously,  he  said,  — 

"We  object  to  any  more  singing  in  this  car." 

"  Why,  I  thought  you  were  so  absorbed  you  did 
not  hear  it." 

"It  is  exceedingly  annoying  to  some  of  us,  and  we 
do  not  intend  to  have  any  more  of  it.  And,  further- 
more, if  you  are  so  patriotic  as  you  profess,  why  don't 
you  shoulder  the  musket,  and  become  a  soldier  at 
once  ? " 

"Why,  sir,  the  muskets  gave  out  long  ago,  and 
there  is  nothing  left  for  us  patriots  but  Quarter-mas- 
ter's berths.  But  a  hundred  dollars  a  month,  and  a 
quart  of  brass  buttons  for  my  coat,  would  not  pay 
me,  so  I  make  and  sing  songs,  for  my  part  in  putting 
down  the  Eebellion." 

Springing  up  in  his  seat  as  if  to  seize  his  pistol,  or 


28         .  IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 

to  attack  me,  he  was  very  glad  to  sit  down  at  the 
quiet  invitation  of  an  officer,  who  told  him  that  he 
was  the  aggressor,  and  he  could  not  harm  me. 

Whether  he  remained  long  enough  to  tarnish  his 
buttons,  or  went  home  to  tell  of  his  exploits  in  a 
campaign  that  needed  no  gunpowder,  I  do  not  know ; 
but  this  I  know,  that  during  the  first  years  of  the 
war  there  were  thousands  of  men  in  the  army  who 
would  do  more  to  propitiate  a  pretty  Secesh  woman, 
than  to  defend  the  flag  of  their  country. 

Standing  in  an  army-wagon  without  cover,  in  the 
camp  of  the  5th  Vermont,  a  day  or  two  before  the  re- 
treat to  the  James,  I  was  singing  for  the  regiment, 
most  of  whom  were  gathered  about  me, — perhaps  five 
hundred  men.  Ping-e, — a  bullet  close  to  my  head  ! 
Not  certain  whence  it  came,  for  flying  bullets  were 
by  no  means  rare  at  that  time,  I  paid  but  little  atten- 
tion to  it.  In  a  few  minutes  there  is  another,  e.ven 
nearer  than  the  first ;  an  officer  has  discovered  that 
the  rebels  in  yonder  thicket,  three-fourths  of  a  mile 
distant,  -are  making  my  crowd  their  target ;  and  my 
concert  is  speedily  adjourned  to  a  more  convenient 
place  and  season. 

In  the  army,  and  out,  I  have  had  most  splendid  op- 
portunities to  turn  for  some  one  to  grind  his  axe.  A 
would-be  Governor,  knowing  what  a  hold  a  little  song 
sometimes  obtains  upon  the  common  people,  is  anx- 


IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL.  29 

ious  to  see  his  strong  points  thrown  into  singing 
shape,  in  such  a  taking  style  as  will  captivate  the 
masses  till  after  the  election ;  and  the  man  who  will 
make  the  song,  and  set  the  people  to  singing  it,  gets 
his  pay,  011  the  part  of  the  people,  by  the  sale  of  the 
songs,  and,  on  the  part  of  the  politician,  by  a  nod, 
if  there  is  no  distinguished  person  to  see  it,  and,  once 
in  a  great  while,  a  shake  of  the  hand.  But  if  the  as- 
pirant gains  his  point,  the  poor  poet  is  seldom 
thought  of;  and,  if  ever,  as  a  very  clever  fellow  with 
versatile  genius.  If  any  of  our  patriotic  poets  have 
been  rewarded  with  political  honors,  I  have  not 
heard  of  it.  Perhaps  it  would  not  be  a  bad  plan  to 
try  some  of  those  in  the  berths  that  have  been  dis- 
graced by  the  numerous  Government  defaulters. 

After  a  battle,  almost  every  commanding  officer 
thinks  his  troops  displayed  extraordinary  heroism. 
After  a  victory,  it  is  quite  common  to  find  two  or 
three  officers  claiming  the  chief  honor  of  the  result. 
"  If  I  had  not  ordered  that  charge  !  "  "  If  I  had  not 
pushed  forward  through  that  enfilading  fire  !  "  or, 
"  If  I  had  arrived  a  minute  later,  all  would  have  been 
lost ! "  These,  and  similar  expressions,  are  common, 
and  often  honestly  made.  When  men  feel  that  they 
have  done  anything  particularly  praiseworthy,  it  is 
natural  that  they  should  crave  commendation.  If 
officers,  they  wish  a  favorable  mention  in  the  report 


30  JN   CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 

from  head-quarters,  and  in  the  press.  Few  praises 
are  more  gratifying  to  a  successful  commander  than 
those  which  are  sung  by  the  people ;  and  in  all  ages 
the  most  popular  ballads  have  perpetuated  the  hero- 
ism of  warriors. 

It  often  happens  that  the  exploits  of  both  officers 
and  men,  in  battle,  are  of  such  a  nature  that  the  less 
said  of  them  the  better.  A  case  in  point  shall  close 
this  chapter :  A  few  "weeks  after  the  battle  of  Stone 
Biver,  I  visited  one  of  the  notable  field-batteries, 
commanded  by  a  dignified  officer,  educated  at  West 
Point.  If  there  was  any  organization  in  the  army  of 
the  Cumberland  that  was  regarded,  or  regarded 
itself,  as  elite,  that  was  the  one.  Being  invited  by 
some  of  the  men  to  sing,  I  first  went  to  pay  my  re- 
spects to  the  officer  in  command,  show  him  my  pass 
and  credentials,  and  obtain  his  sanction. 

He  received  me  with  stiff  politeness,  making  as 
few  words  as  possible,  simply  remarking  that  his 
men  were  men  of  culture,  accustomed,  at  home,  to 
entertainments  of  the  highest  order;  "And  as  to 
singing,"  said  he,  "I  doubt  not  many  of  them  could 
better  entertain  you,  than  you  them." 

"But,  Captain,  the  more  cultivated  the  better  I 
shall  like  them.  I  have  sung  with  five  hundred  reg- 
iments and  batteries." 

Smiling  at  my  persistence,  he  asked  for  one  of  the 


IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 


songs  I  proposed  to  sing,  when  I  handed  him  the 
following :  — 


BROTHER,  WHEN  WILL  YOU  COME  BACK? 

The  shadows  of  evening  bring  home  to  the  hearth 

The  loved  ones  who,  patient,  have  toiled  through  the  day ; 

Though  glad  be  the  greetings,  and  hearty  the  mirth, 

Our  hearts  ever  turn  to  the  brother  away ; 

We  ask,  is  he  pacing  the  sentinel's  beat, 

Intent  on  his  duty,  his  face  to  the  foe? 

Or,  wearied  with  marching  through  mud,  rain  and  sleet, 

He  lies  in  his  blanket,  his  pillow  the  snow? 

CHORUS.  —  Brother,  dear  brother,  when  will  you  come  back? 
Back  to  the  hearts  ever  loving  and  true  ? 
While  your  camp-fires  are  burning, 
Our  fond  hearts  are  yearning, 
Brother,  dear  brother,  we're  praying  for  you. 

The  cold  winds  of  winter  sweep  down  from  the  hills, 
With  wailings  more  dismal  than  ever  before  ; 
We  think  of  the  blast  that  our  soldier-boy  chills, 
And  sigh  to  divide  him  our  basket  and  store ; 
We  know  that  but  little  he  heeds  his  hard  lot, 
His  long  weary  marches,  his  coarse  scanty  fare, 
The  cannon's  loud  thunder,  the  death-dealing  shot, 
But  nerve  him  to  suffer,  to  do,  and  to  dare. 


3a  IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 

There's  many  a  soldier  lies  silent,  alone, 
Uncoffined,  unshrouded,  beneath  the  damp  clay ; 
His  kindred  search  vainly  for  head-board  or  stone, 
Or  some  one  to  tell  where  his  life  ebbed  away ; 
Though  sad  be  the  tidings  from  fields  red  with  gore, 
And  Death  reaps  a  harvest  of  brave  and  true  men, 
Dear  brother,  stand  firm  till  the  contest  is  o'er, 
Then  rush  to  the  arms  that  will  clasp  you  again. 

Perusing  the  words,  and  looking  at  the  music  very 
carefully,  he  inquired,  "Who  is  the  author  of  these 
words  ?  " 

"Your  humble  servant,  sir." 

"  Who  is  the  author  of  the  music  ?  " 

"The  same,  sir." 

"I  hope  you  are  not  in  a  hurry.  I  have  something 
to  propose  to  you  that  I  think  may  be  of  importance 
to  both  of  us.  Did  you  witness  any  part  of  our 
great  battle?" 

"I  did;  but  was  most  of  the  time  so  far  to  the 
rear,  that  I  can  tell  but  little  about  it.  I  knew  more 
by  the  sound  than  the  sight." 

"  Near  what  part  of  the  line  were  you,  mostly  ?  " 

"Near  the  left  and  centre." 

"  Do  you  know  anything  of  the  action  of  my  bat- 
tery on  the  occasion  ?  " 

"Not  much." 

w  Well,  sir,"  (taking  a  stick,  and  making  a  diagram 
on  the  ground-floor  of  his  tent,)  "here  was  Bragg's 


IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL.  33 

Army,  and  here  was  ours.     Here  is  my  battery,  and 
opposite,  are  some  of  Bragg's  choicest  troops." 

But  I  need  not  go  into  detail.  His  "men  bore  a 
most  conspicuous  part  in  achieving  victory."  The 
point  of  this  pretension  can  only  be  seen  by  reading 
a  chapter  in  a  book  issued  by  the  State  of  Ohio,  en- 
titled, "  OHIO  IN  THE  WAE."  I  will  not  quote  the  par- 
agraph, lest  I  should  do  the  battery  injustice.  But 
it  is  there  asserted  that  this  same  battery  committed, 
on  that  occasion,  one  of  the  most  inexcusable  blun- 
ders of  the  war,  by  firing  upon,  killing  and  wounding 
a  number  of  Ohio  troops,  taking  them  for  rebels. 
And  this  man  wished  me  to  weave  the  heroism  of  his 
boys  into  poetry  and  song,  and  thought  it  would  be 
doing  not  only  justice  to  them,  but  a  good  thing  for 
myself. 

Even  while  he  was  making  his  diagrams,  I  was  on 
the  point  of  asking  him  where  the  Ohio  troops  were 
that  he  fired  into.  The  charge  wa*s  current  before 
the  battle  was  over.  But  it  always  seemed  strange 
that  the  officer  was  not  overhauled,  if  the  charge  was 
true.  But  there  it  is  in  the  book  referred  to.  I  did 
not  write  any  ballad  for  the  occasion. 

Before  the  war  closed,  some  of  the  most  distin 
guished  men  and  women  of  the  country  visited  the 
Army,  to  speak,  read,  and  sing;  among  whom  I  may 
mention  Thomas  Buchannan  Read,  and  Murdock,  the 
Tragedian. 


34  Hark,  To  arms  !  our  Country  calls  us. 


ARMY  SONG. 


Hark!  To  arms  I  our  Country's  calling!  Treason  strikes,  our  brothers  falling  ! 


Mill  and  Workshop,  cease  your  rattle,  Send  your  working  hosts  to  battle. 


CHORUS. 


Hark,  To  arms,  Our  country  calls  us,  Dangers  rouse  but  naught  appals  us. 


v 

Northern  blades,  and  northern  metal,  Test  them,  traitors,  iiow  we  settle. 


-ft 


1 


35 


2.    Tradesmen,  close  your  doors  and  speed  you 
To  the  field,  your  brothers  need  you ! 
Herdsmen,  leave  your  flocks  and  cattle, 
Arm  and  hurry  to  the  battle ! 

Cho.  —  Hark!  To  arms,  &c. 


3.    Young  men,  lithe  and  strong  we  want  you ; 
Quail,  and  age  and  cripples  taunt  you  ! 
Seize  the  golden  moments  flying; 
Meet  your  duty,  living, — dying ! 

Cho.  —  Hark,  To  arms,  &c. 


4.     Women  true,  no  tears  or  sighing ! 
Ease  and  luxuries  denying ! 
Loving  words  and  Spartan  valor, 
Not  a  lip  or  cheek  of  pallor. 

Cho.  — Hark,  to  arms,  &o. 


5.     East  and  West,  they  shout  «'  We're  ready"  ! 
On  the  columns,  firm  and  steady ! 
True  as  were  our  Sires  before  us, 
Marching  steady  to  the  chorus — 

Cho.— Hark!  To  arms,  &o. 


CHAPTER    II. 

NEAR   THE    RAPPAHANNOCK. 

SHORTLY  after  McClellan's  advance  on  Manassas, 
to  find  it  abandoned,  that  portion  of  the  army  under 
McDowell  was  encamped  awhile  near  Catlett's  Station, 
on  the  railroad  from  Washington  to  Richmond.  But 
previous  to  the  arrival  of  these  troops,  a  brigade  of 
Banks'  command,  then  in  the  Shenandoah,  had  come 
across  the  mountains,  and  been  assigned  to  the  front 
position  -in  McClellan's  Army. 

These  troops  were  the  12th  and  the  13th  Mass., 
Cols.  Webster  and  Leonard,  the  16th  Mich.,  Col. 
Stockton,  the  13th  and  16th  Indiana,  and  the  9th 
New  York,  the  Commanders  of  which  I  do  not  re- 
member by  name.  There  was  also  one  battery,  and 
in  a  short  time  this  force  was  strengthened  by  the 
addition  of  the  New  England  Cavalry,  from  Provi- 
dence, R.  I.,  and  vicinity,  the  8th  Illinois,  and  one 
half  of  the  1st  Maine,  likewise  cavalry.  The  Irish 
Brigade  was  somewhere  in  £he  vicinity,  but  I  do  not 
know  precisely  where. 

(56) 


IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 


37 


This  seemed  a  very  inadequate  force  to  check  Lee, 
should  he  assume  the  offensive.  But,  in  a  short  time, 
a  large  body  of  troops  began  to  move  forward  towards 
this  point,  though  very  slowly  indeed  ;  and,  as  far  as 
an  outsider  could  judge,  we  were  going  on  to  Rich- 
mond by  the  most  direct  route.  Next  to  the  troops 
already  mentioned,  and  occupying  either  side  of  the 
railroad,  at  Catlett's,  were  Franklin's  Division, 
Kearney's  Brigade,  and  the  Pennsylvania  Reserves, 
consisting  of  twelve  regiments  and  three  batteries. 
But  suddenly  the  plan  seemed  to  be  changed ;  and, 
while  Franklin's  and  Kearney's  troops  returned  to 
Alexandria,  the  Pennsylvanians,  and  many  others, 
were  sent  across  the  country,  under  McDowell,  to 
Fredericksburg.  Those  that  returned  to  the  Potomac 
were  to  embark,  with  the  main  army,  for  the  Pe- 
ninsula. 

A  few  days  after  the  Brigade  from  the  Sheuaudoah 
had  pitched  their  tents  at  Rappahannock  Junction,  I 
made  a  call  one  morning  on  Company  B.,  of  the  12th 
Mass.,  who  were  doing  provost  duty,  the  same  being 
under  command  of  Captain  Bates,  of  AYeymouth. 
The  rain  was  pouring  down,  the  mud  was  deep,  the 
weather  cold,  almost  to  the  freezing  point,  and  every- 
thing gloomy  indeed.  If  I  had  been  asked  what 
motive  brought  me  here,  what 'could  have  been  my 


38  IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 

answer,  but  a  love  of  adventure,  and  a  disposition  to 
go  to  the  front. 

I  was  about  to  enter  one  of  the  Sibley  tents,  which 
accommodate  some  twelve  men,  when  my  ears  were 
saluted  by  a  stentorian  voice,  which,  on  looking 
away  some  ten  rods,  I  perceived  came  from  a  dark- 
complexioned,  thick-set,  resolute-looking  man,  with 
a  Captain's  strap  on  his  shoulder. 

"  This  way,  sir  I    Who  are  you?    This  way,  sir  ! " 

Starting  for  his  tent,  and  coming  into  his  presence, 
touching  my  hat  with  as  much  military  style  as  my 
brief  experience  enabled  me  to  execute,  I  inquired 
of  the  stern  officer  whom  I  had  the  honor  of  address- 
ing? 

"  I  am  the  Provost  Marshal,  sir,  of  this  Depart- 
ment, and  it  is  my  duty  to  arrest  all  unknown  or 
suspicious  persons.  Now,  what  is  your  name ;  and 
where  are  you  from ;  and  what  is  your  business?" 

Giving  my  name  and  residence,  I  continued :  WI 
furnish  the  Army  with  postage-stamps,  work  in  the 
hospitals  when  feeling  like  it,  and,  when  wanted, 
give  free  entertainments  of  singing,  and  lectures  on 
temperance,  and  get  my  pay  by  the  sale  of  music." 

"Where  are  your  stamps?" 

"Here,  sir  — "  opening  "a  tin  water-tight  cylinder 
that  would  hold  five  hundred  dollar's  worth. 

"  And  do  you  sell  them  at  cost  ?  " 


IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 


39 


"  I  do,  sir." 

"  Are  you  aware  that  there  is  a  penalty  for  selling 
postage-stamps  above  their  face  ?  " 

"I  am,  sir." 

"But  why  do  you  carry  -them,  if  not  to  make 
money  ?  " 

"  To  accommodate  those  who  need  them." 

"  Has  the  Government  sent  you  to  the  Army  for 
this  purpose  ?  " 

"  No,  sir ;  I  did  not  need  to  be  sent.  Most  of  the 
Sutler's  refuse,  or  neglect  to  keep  them  on  hand.  I 
saw  the  wants  of  the  men,  and  have  endeavored  to 
meet  them." 

"  I  suppose  you  have  a  pass  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Let  me  see  it." 

I  found,  on  searching  my  pockets,  that  I  was  in 
the  condition  of  the  servant-girl  who  had  lost  her 
charac-ter.  It  was  not  to  be  found. 

"  So  you  cannot  find  your  pass  ?  Out  to  the  front, 
with  no  reasonable  business,  and  without  a  pass, 
looks,  to  say  the  least,  rather  suspicious.  Your 
disinterested  kindness  is  of  a  pattern  we  are  not 
accustomed  to.  I  shall  be  under  the  necessity  of 
presenting  your  case  to  the  General  in  command." 

"  I  shall  be  most  happy  to  make  his  acquaintance 
if  he  is  a  gentleman,  and  no  doubt  he  is." 


4o 


IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 


The  provost  had  attempted  to  frighten  me  by  a 
loud,  sharp  voice,  and  an  imperious  but  unnatural 
manner,  the  reason  for  which  was  not  understood  at 
the  time.  I  found,  afterwards,  that  this  was  the 
method  usually  adopted  to  disconcert  men  arrested 
as  spies.  I  took  the  liberty  to  tell  him  that  all  such 
harsh  words  were  unnecessary  :  that,  while  they  made 
mo  feel  unpleasant,  they  could  do  no  good ;  he 
could  not  disconcert  me,  and  he  might  take  me  to 
the  General  as  soon  as  possible. 

A  short  walk  to  an  old  farm-house  brought  me  into 
the  presence  of  General  Abercrombie,  a  small,  gray- 
haired  man,  sixty  years  of  age,  erect  as  a  well  disci- 
plined soldier  at  dress  parade,  voice  soft  and  sweet 
as  a  woman's,  manners  uncommonly  affable  for  a 
West  Pointer,  but  with  an  eye  that  tocfc  in  the  char- 
acter of  the  person  scrutinized  at  a  glance. 

"General,"  said  the  Provost,  "I  have  arrested  this 
man  as  a  suspicious  character.  He  seems  to  have  no 
legitimate  business,  and  is  without  a  pass.  I  submit 
him  to  you." 

With  great  pleasantness  of  word  and  manner,  he 
asked  me  my  reason  for  visiting  that  outpost  of  tho 
Army,  saying  that  it  seemed  very  extraordinary  in- 
deed to  find  a  civilian  from  the  North  there.  I  gave 
him  the  same  story  previously  told  to  Captain  Bates. 

"  Why  are  you  without  a  pass  ?  " 


IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL.  4! 

"I  left  it,  by  mistake,  with  other  papers,  in  the 
4th  New  Jersey,  Kearney's  Brigade,  back  towards 
Manas  sas." 

After  putting  all  the  questions  he  could  think  of 
that  might  serve  to  enlighten  him  as  to  my  charac- 
ter, he  said,  — 

"  You  seem  to  be  a  Northern  man.  Your  answers 
are  very  frank.  There  is  but  one  one  bad  feature  to 
your  case  that  I  can  discover :  I  cannot  understand 
what  motive  brings  you  here,  and  alone.  There  is 
nothing  here  to  buy,  and  you  have  nothing  to  sell 
but  some  postage-stamps,  which  afford  no  profit,  and 
a  few  songs,  which  can  give  you  but  little  pay  for  the 
hardships  and  dangers  encountered.  As  you  have  no 
pass,  I  think  I  shall  be  under  the  necessity  of  detain- 
ing you  until  we  can  learn  more  about  you." 

"General,  with  your  permission,  I  would  like  to 
sing  you  a  song." 

Staring  at  me  a  moment,  with  a  look  that  indicated 
both  astonishment  and  amusement,  he  replied,  — 

"We  will  hear  you  with  pleasure.     Proceed." 

I  struck  up  my  song,  then  new,  We're  marching 
down  to  Dixie's  Land.  I  had  sung  but  one  stanza, 
when  Captain  Bates  interrupted  by  asking  if  he 
could  see  the  music. 

"  Yes,  sir.     Here  it  is." 

"Adjutant,  this  way  if  you  please.     You  take  the 


42  IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 

tenor,  I  will  sing  the  bass,  and  this  man  will  sing  the 
air.  Repeat  the  first  stanza. — All  right. — Pro- 
ceed." 

And  the  concert  commenced.  The  Captain,  who 
had  a  fine  bass  voice,  became  exceedingly  interested, 
and  the  Adjutant  made  his  sweet  tenor  prominent. 

The  first  stanza  went  off  quite  well,  the  second 
much  better,  the  third  brought  the  General  to  a 
laugh,  and  a  clapping  of  the  hands,  and  we  had  to 
repeat  it : 

March  on,  march  on,  our  cause  is  just, 

To  Dixie's  land,  to  Dixie's  land  ; 

With  loyal  hearts,  and  God  our  trust, 

To  put  Rebellion  down  : 

The  blood  of  martyred  brothers  cries, 

From  Dixie's  land,  from  Dixie's  land, 

Avenge,  avenge  our  sacrifice, 

And  put  Rebellion  down  : 

The  trumpet  sounds,  the  war-cry  rings, 

In  Dixie's  land,  in  Dixie's  land, 

'Mid  clashing  steel  each  brave  heart  springs 

To  put  Rebellion  down. 

O,  we're  marching  down  to  Dixie's  land, 
To  Dixie's  land,  to  Dixie's  land, 
And  our  flag  shall  wave  to  the  Rio  Gi'ande, 
And  Treason  shall  go  down. 


IN  GAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 


43 


The  General  rose  to  his  feet ;  and,  seeing  that  I 
had  him  on  my  side,  it  made  me  forget  that  I  was 
under  arrest.  I  seemed  to  be  singing  at  a  grand 
concert,  and  felt  myself  the  most  important  person- 
age in  the  crowd.  The  song  concluded,  the  General 
gave  me  his  hand  most  cordially. 

"  I  understand  you  now,  sir.  If  you  can  stir  our 
hearts  as  you  have,  you  will  wield  a  vast  power 
over  the  common  soldier,  who  is  more  emotional,  and 
perhaps  better  than  we  are.  Captain  Bates,  you  will 
furnish  this  man  with  a  pass ;  and  you,  sir,  may  con- 
sider yourself  at  home  as  long  as  you  please  to  re- 
main in  my  Brigade." 

Eight  here,  as  well  as  anywhere,  I  may  say,  that 
the  army  had  few  better  officers  than  Captain  Bates. 
He  was  promoted  to  the  command  of  the  regiment, 
and  was  one  of  the  fighting-men  of  the  army.  Both 
he  and  his  men  have  a  noble  record. 

When  I  started  for  the  front  I  was  with  the  New 
England  Cavalry.  Ten  miles,  or  more,  beyond  Man- 
assas,  the  regiment  bivouacked  for  the  night.  The 
weather  being  damp,  and  not  feeling  well,  I  called  at 
a  house  for  lodging,  hoping  to  avoid  sleeping  on  the 
ground.  Rapping  several  times  before  receiving  a 
reply,  I  at  length  heard  the  customary  inquiry,  "Who 
is  there?" 

It  was  evident  the  inmates  were  in  bed,  though  it 


44  IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 

was  scarcely  dark.  I  answered,  —  "A  stranger,  un- 
armed, who  wishes  lodging,  and  is  willing  to  pay  a 
reasonable  price." 

"We  have  no  place  for  you." 

"Brother,"  (emphasizing  that  word,)  "lam  quite 
unwell.  True,  I  am  a  Northern  man,  and  one  of  our 
regiments  ia  stopping  for  the  night  near  by;  but  I 
am  a  gentleman,  and,  I  trust,  a  Christian,  with 
ample  means  to  pay,  and  will  sleep  on  the  floor, 
.while  you  shall  never  regret  your  kindness  to  a 
stranger." 

"Have  patience  till  I  can  strike  a  light,  and  I  will 
do  what  I  can  for  you." 

The  door  was  unbolted,  and  there  stood  one  of  the 
most  prepossessing  old  men  I  ever  saw.  He  had 
no  bed,  but  a  plenty  of  blankets  with  which  to  make 
one  on  the  floor,  and  in  half  an  hour  I  was  as  happy 
as  though  I  were  at  the  Tremont.  Rising  early, 
and  knowing  I  had  but  a  short  time  to  stay,  as  the 
regiment  would  move  as  soon  as  the  men  and  horses 
could  finish  their  morning  meal,  I  offered  the  old 
gentleman  a  greenback  and  prepared  to  leave.  "No, 
stranger,  no  money,  but  if  you  could  procure  for 
my  family  a  quart  of  salt,  you  would  do  a  kindness 
wo  shall  never  forget." 

Taking  a  tin  pail,  which  he  called  a  bucket,  and 
seeking  the  proper  wagon,  I  soon  procured  two 


IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL.  45 

quarts,  and  presented  it  to  my  host.  Stepping  into 
the  adjoining  room,  he  soon  returned  with  a  handful 
of  bills,  four  inches  or  more  in  thickness,  holding 
them  so  that  I  could  see,  as  he  turned  up  the  ends, 
that  they  were  of  various  denominations,  from  five 
dollars  to  a  hundred. 

"  My  dear  sir,  here  are  thousands  of  dollars  of  Con- 
federate money,  and  you  may  take  any  sum  you 
please,  if  you  will  procure  for  me  of  your  troops  one 
bushel  of  meal.  I  have  potatoes,  pork,  a  little 
wheat,  a  few  other  articles  of  food,  but  no  meal ;  and 
none  of  my  neighbors  have  any  to  spare.  This  may 
probably  be  of  use  to  you  some  time  ;  but,  had  I  a 
bushel  of  it,  it  would  not  avail  me  to  feed  my  family." 

"  I  do  not  think  so  much  could  be  procured,  — 
perhaps  not  any.  I  will  see  what  can  de  done." 

But  before  I  reached  the  camping-ground,  the  train 
had  started.  I  returned,  and  remained  long  enough 
to  hear  his  experience  in  the  war,  and,  as  it  interested 
me,  it  may  the  reader  : 

"I  had  no  heart  in  this  Secession.  I  am  a  Botts 
man,  sir.  John  Miner  Botts  is  my  friend.  He  lives 
about  forty  miles  south,  between  the  Eappahannock 
and  the  Eapidan.  He  is  a  gentleman,  and  a  man  of 
much  greater  influence  than  I.  The  government  at 
Richmond  annoyed  him  a  great  deal.  He  was  ar- 
rested, but  he  proved  smart  enough  for  them.  I 


46  nr  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 

thought  to  propitiate  them,  and  avoid  trouble,  by  sell- 
ing them  my  stock,  and  buying  other  stock  for  them 
during  the  time  the  army  was  in  this  vicinity.  This 
pile  of  Confederate  notes  is  the  proceeds  of  my 
horses,  mules,  cattle  and  swine,  and  of  my  net  profits 
on  purchases  and  sales.  When  the  army  left,  my 
granary  was  bare.  It  stripped  most  of  us,  but  me  in 
particular.  Now  your  troops  are  on  the  south  of  me, 
and,  were  I  in  Alexandria  to-day,  I  have  nothing  that 
would  buy  corn  or  flour. 

"I  have  but  one  thing  to  regret,  and  that  is,  that  I 
was  not  more  decided  and  outspoken  against  the 
course  of  our  leaders.  The  more  I  see  of  their  con- 
duct, the  more  I  loathe  them,  and  now,  sir,  I  abandon 
their  cause.  Henceforth  I  am  a  Union  man ;  and  I 
will  leave  all  I  have  here  to  the  fortunes  of  war,  and 
go  North,  where  I  have  friends,  and,  if  I  can  find 
nothing  to  do,  will  throw  myself  upon  their  hospi- 
tality until  this  wretched  work  is  ended.  There  is 
not  an  animal  about  my  premises  that  will  give  sus- 
tenance to  a  family.  I  have  one  hope  that  is  a  little 
comforting :  the  husband  of  that  young  woman  you 
just  saw,  with  a  little  boy  by  her  side,  is  in  the  rebel 
army,  and  I  have  some  hope  that  the  villain  may  die, 
or  be  shot." 

"  Why,  sir,  if  he  is  a  bad  man,  why  do  you  not,  or 
why  did  you  not  before  this,  procure  a  divorce  for 


IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL.  47 

your  daughter,  as  I  presume  that  is  the  relation  she 
bears  to  you?" 

"I  think  you  do  not  fully  understand  the  nature 
of  young  women.  Most  of  them  will  suffer  the 
most  brutal  treatment,  especially  if  quite  young,  for 
years,  before  they  are  willing  to  resort  to  the  re- 
volting steps  of  procuring  a  divorce.  They  prefer  to 
endure  the  brutality  of  a  husband,  who  is  sometimes 
passably  kind,  to  the  coldness  and  suspicions  of  the 
world,  that  seldom  speaks  of  them  kindly,  and  never 
with  pity.  Her  husband  is  everything  that  is  mean 
and  loathsome  :  a  liar,  a  shirk,  a  sluggard,  a  pol- 
troon, destitute  of  honor,  and  a  drunkard.  But  she 
does  not  see  him  in  his  true  light.  She  thinks  he 
will  improve  with  age ;  that  he  is  f  now  sowing  his 
wild  oats.'  But,  sir,  he  is  rotten ;  and  if  I  lose  my 
farm  I  will  take  my  family  North,  and,  if  possible, 
where  he  will  never  see  my  child  again.  Brutes  like 
him  grow  worse,  instead  of  better. 

"O,  stranger!  we  little  think,  when  our  girls  are 
children,  what  we  are  raising  them  for.  When  they 
are  in  pain  we  leap  from  our  warm  beds  into  the 
cold,  make  haste  to  kindle  the  fire  for  warm  drinks, 
ride,  if  need  be,  through  the  pelting  storm  for  a 
physician,  with  the  image  of  our  suffering  child  con- 
fronting us  all  the  way  to  the  town  and  back ;  in  child- 
hood, father  and  mother  are  detained  from  church, 


48  IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 

and  places  of  entertainment,  because  she  is  unwilling 
to  remain  at  home  with  the  servants ;  in  her  youth 
we  lavish  money  on  her  in  many  ways,  schooling  her 
at  an  expensive  seminary,  supplying  her  with  a  costly 
piano,  and  the  accustomed  dress  and  ornaments  of 
females  of  good  society,  money  for  a  visit  to  New 
Orleans,  and  mercy  knows  what  not, — and  for  what? 
With  three  months'  acquaintance  with  a  brainless 
swell,  she  becomes  a  wife,  and,  in  time,  a  mother. 
Without  a  father,  my  daughter's  condition  would  be 
worse  than  that  of  the  Hindoo  widow  who  mounts  the 
funeral  pile.  She  is  on  the  funeral  pile,  and  lives. 
But  I  declare  most  solemnly  she  shall  never  live  with 
that  wretch  again.  Hurry  on,  Northern  soldiers,  if 
only  to  hack,  shoot,  or  hang  the  cowardly  brute  who 
has  made  my  family  wretched.  Stranger,  I  see  you 
are  impatient  to  leave.  Do  you  know  the  way  to 
the  place  where  your  regiment  is  bound  ?  " 

"I  can  follow  its  trail,  of  course." 

Bidding  him  goad-by,  I  was  soon  on  my  way, 
and  in  an  hour  was  with  the'regiment,  which  had  been 
detained  in  crossing  a  creek. 

I  accompanied  McDowell's  troops  to  Fredericks- 
burg.  These  were  the  troops  McClellan  wanted  for 
reinforcements  on  the  peninsula.  He  received  a 
small  part  of  them,  the  Pennsylvania  Reserves,  at 
Mechanics  ville . 


IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL.  49 

At  Fredericksburg I  saw  little  worthy  of  note.  It 
looked  seedy,  but  had  not  been  much  injured  by  the 
Confederate  troops  that  had  occupied  it.  I  think  our 
advance  met  with  little  opposition.  At  any  rate, 
when  the  main  body  arrived,  the  city  was  in  peace- 
able possession  of  the  troops  that  had  preceded  us. 

I  found  entertainment  with  an  old  gentleman,  who 
was  not  only  talkative,  but  intelligent.  In  fact,  he 
knew  more  than  any  Virginian  I  had  ever  conversed 
with.  Asking  him  how  he  felt  about  the  war,  I  re- 
ceived a  reply  somewhat  like  this  : 

"  Like  most  Virginians,  I  was  opposed  to  Secession, 
but,  being  outvoted,  and  my  State  going  with  her 
sister  Slave  States,  I  intended  to  bear  my  portion  of 
the  burden.  I  have  three  sons,  and  a  son-in-law,  in 
the  service.  My  property  is  at  the  service  of  my 
new  country,  as  it  was  to  that  of  my  old." 

"  Do  you  expect  to  succeed  in  establishing  an  in- 
dependent government  ?  " 

"Most  assuredly  I  do,  as  indeed  we  all  do.  All 
history  promises  success  to  us.  We  are  a  great,  and 
unlike  the  North,  a  united  people ;  and  we  are  fight- 
ing on  the  defensive,  —  for  home,  independence,  and 
right ;  yes,  sir,  right" 

"But  if  you  are  a  great  people,  aside  from  your 
slaves,  who  are  an  incumbrauce  at  this  time  rather 
than  a  help,  we  are  twice  as  great.  We  can  raise 

4 


50  IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 

two  men  to  your  one,  equip  them  perfectly,  feed  and 
pay  them ;  and  then  we  have  a  Navy  (while  you  have 
none)  that  can  demolish  every  city  on  your  coast, 
or,  which  is  much  better,  take  possession  of  them  at 
our  pleasure.  And,  as  to  divisions  at  the  North,  you 
will  find,  as  we  have  already  found,  that,  with  few 
exceptions,  one  political  party  feels  as  keenly  as  the 
other  every  insult  to  the  old  flag.  If  you  will  go 
with  me  among  our  troops  here,  while  I  ascertain 
who  are  Republicans  and  who  Democrats,  the  number 
of  the  latter  will  astonish  you.  If  you  have  flattered 
yourself  that  the  Democrats  at  the  North  are  not 
going  to  fight  to  put  down  this  rebellion,  you  are 
much  mistaken.  Why,  our  highest  and  best  Gen- 
erals are  Democrats.  Generals  McClellan,  Franklin, 
Hancock,  Wool,  and  others  I  could  name,  are  Dem- 
ocrats." 

"That  is  a  good  one!  That  pleases  me.  Your 
great  Generals  !  —  who  are  they  ?  Wool  is  in  his 
dotage ;  McDowell,  —  well,  to  look  at  him,  —  a 
chuckle-head  stupid,  —  is  enough,  without  his  ex- 
ploits at  Bull  Run,  to  tell  what  he  is  ;  McClellan,  — 
a  mere  pet  of  a  vain  old  man,  who  could  subsist  for 
a  month  on  a  little  flattery  and  a  picture  of  himself 
in  full  military  dress  to  gaze  at,  —  what  has  Mc- 
Clellan done,  that  he  should  be  set  up  as  the  Amer- 
ican Napoleon?  I  tell  you,  stranger,  that  when  Lee 


/AT  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL.  5l 

has  whipped  the  conceit  out  of  him,  as  he  surely  will 
do  the  first  opportunity  that -offers,  your  people  will 
treat  him  as  men  do  all  their  idols,  when  they  find 
they  are  not  gods,  and  he  will  wish  he  had  confined 
himself  to  building  railroads ;  a  business,  I  doubt 
not,  he  understands." 

"  You  are  severe  on  our  commanders." 
"No  more  so  than  you  will  be  a  year  hence.  You 
may  raise,  or  the  war  may  develop,  some  Gen- 
erals ;  but  you  have  none  now.  I  know  most  of 
them  personally,  as  I  know  ours.  Robert  E.  Lee, 
providentially,  is  neither  too  old  nor  too  young.  Ex- 
treme age  is  worse  than  extreme  youth.  He  has  rare 
talents,  ripe  years,  has  had  a  broad  field  of  observ- 
ation, and  considerable  military  experience.  There 
will  probably  be  a  great  loss  of  life,  but  you  cannot 
conquer  us.  And  what  are  you  fighting  against  us 
for  ?  Have  we  ever  injured  you  ?  Did  we  ever  prey 
upon  your  commerce?  Have  we  not  bought  your 
manufactures?  Have  we  not  shipped  to  you  our 
cotton,  made  you  our  factors,  allowed  you  to  spin 
and  weave  it,  received  the  cloth  from  your  looms, 
paying  double  transportation,  commissions  and  prof- 
its? We  have  not  troubled  you.  If  you  saw  fit  to 
send  to  England,  France,  Ireland,  or  the  British 
Provinces  for  operatives  to  work  up  the  cotton  we 
sent  you,  it  was  none  of  our  business,  and  we  did 


ij2  IN   CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL.      . 

not  make  it  such.  But  for  thirty  years  the  North 
has  been  meddling  with  our  system  of  labor,  attempt- 
ing to  beget  discontent,  circulating  incendiary  docu- 
ments through  the  mails,  keeping  up  an  underground 
railroad  to  take  away  our  restless  negroes,  and  keep- 
ing up  a  continual  agitation  in  Congress,  until  war, 
bloody  war,  is  the  result." 

"Who  fired  the  first  gun?" 

"Xo  matter  who  fired  the  first  gun.  You  might 
as  well  inquire  who  fired  the  first  gun  when  a  robber 
is  entering  your  house." 

"I  do  not  see  the  parallel.  I  believe  Anderson 
and  his  men,  at  Sumpter,  were  not  attempting  to 
enter  anybody's  house  or  territory.  But  we  will 
not  argue  the  point.  The  time  of  argument  has 
passed;  war,  stern  war,  must  settle  the  question 
now." 

"I  am  acquainted  at  the  North.  I  can  see  no 
material  difference  between  the  white  laborers  there, 
and  the  black  laborers  here.  As  soon  as  your  mer- 
chant or  manufacturer  makes  one  hundred  or  two 
hundred  thousand  dollars,  he  makes  as  broad  a 
distinction  between  himself  and  laborers,  as  there 
is  between  the  master  and  slave.  I  have  been  at 
Central  Park,  and  Fifth  Avenue,  and  I  never  wit- 
nessed in  all  the  South  such  airs  as  I  have  seen 
there.  If  our  substratum  is  the  black,  yours  is  the 


IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 


53 


foreigner.  If  we  have  our  Cuffees  and  Dinahs, 
you  have  your  Patricks  and  Biddys.  Why,  sir,  I 
have  seen  in  a  little  town  in  Massachusetts,  of  less 
than  eight  thousand  population,  a  successful  manufac- 
turer riding  in  his  carriage,  driven  by  an  Irish  coach- . 
man,  displaying  a  cockade,  like  his  city  brothers, 
who  drive  the  snobs  of  Fifth  Avenue.  Eman- 
cipate your  own  poor,  before  you  come  down  here  to 
trouble  ours !  Before  the  war,  there  was  scarcely 
a  slave  in  Virginia  that  was  not  in  a  better  condition 
than  a  large  part  of  the  sewing  women  of  New  York. 
Do  the  people  of  the  North  think  we  are  ignorant 
of  these  things?  What  hypocrisy  I  And,  most 
unaccountable  and  insulting  of  all,  men  and  women, 
professed  Christians  as  well  as  others,  who  take 
no  notice  of  their  own  suffering  sisters  and  chil- 
dren, are  ever  croaking  about  the  poor  negro  of  the 
South.  I  never  heard  that  these  people  were  ever 
distinguished  for  their  interest  in  the  free  negroes 
of  the  North." 

"  Sir,  the  free  negro  of  the  North  takes  care  of 
himself,  as  I  expect  the  free  negroes  of  the  South 
will,  if  this  war  shall  result  in  his  emancipation." 

"That  is  a  mistake.  The  free  negroes  maybe  tol- 
erably well  fed  and  clothed  in  New  York,  and 
especially  in  Boston,  but  in  the  cities  and  large  towns 
of  Southern  Ohio  and  Indiana,  and  in  Canada,  they 


54 


IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 


are  an  indolent  and  vagabond  race.  They  live  in 
the  meanest  houses,  herding  almost  like  pigs,  beg- 
ging and  stealing  in  preference  to  work." 

"You  are  extravagant  in  your  statement  of  the 
case ;  but  suppose  you  were  not,  the  free  negroes 
of  these  places  are  uneducated,  and  the  whites  have 
done  all  they  could,  for  generations,  to  keep  them 
down.  They  have  had  no  incentives  to  rise. 
Even  the  white  children  are  allowed  to  insult  ne- 
groes of  all  ages,  and  if  the  injured  party  dares  to 
resist,  a  riot  might  ensue  that  would  lead  to  the 
extermination  of  the  hated  Africans. 

"In  Boston,  Salem,  Lowell,  Portland  and  Fall 
Biver,  though  they  select  occupations  requiring  less 
physical  power,  they  are  quite  as  industrious  and 
thrifty  as  the  foreign  whites.  And,  furthermore, 
in  all  these  cities  there  are  the  fighting  neighbor- 
hoods, but  these  are  not  the  negro  quarters.  But, 
sir,  when  you  come  North  again,  if  you  will  visit 
me  I  will  take  you  over  my  city,  and  others,  and 
show  you  what  education  has  done  for  the  black 
man.  We  do  not  claim  that  we  can  make  a  white 
man  of  him ;  he  has  his  characteristics,  which  may 
never  be  obliterated.  But  your  children  and  mine 
may  see  the  day  that  shall  determine  the  capabil- 
ities of  the  negro  race." 

Finding  that  McDowell's  force  was  to  be  but  a 


IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 


55 


guard  for  Washington,  I  prepared  to  follow  the 
main  army  to  the  Peninsula,  whither  it  was  being 
transported.  When  leaving  the  city,  I  learned 
that  a  female  soldier  had  been  found  in  one  of  the 
regiments.  I  had  a  glimpse  of  her  as  she  was 
being  sent  away;  but  could  learn  no  particulars, 
so  will  not  pretend  to  give  any.  She  was  sent 
off  as  quietly  and  speedily  as  possible.  Good-by 
to  Fredericksburg. 


CHAPTEE    III: 

UP   THE    SHENANDOAH   VALLEY. 

ABOUT  the  last  of  April  or  first  of  May,  1862, 
I  was  at  Fortress  Monroe,  waiting  for  a  steamer  up 
the  York  and  the  Pamunkey  to  reach  the  army 
encamped  at  Whitehouse  Landing.  Being  obliged 
to  wait  a  few  hours,  I  spent  them  on  a  steamer, 
bound,  perhaps,  to  Annapolis,  having  on  board  a 
large  number  of  the  sick  and  wounded.  It  had  just 
come  down  the  river.  The  wounded  were  from  the 
battle  of  Williamsburg.  After  talking  and  singing 
there  a  short  time,  I  was  told  that,  over  in  one 
corner,  there  were  ten  or  fifteen  wounded  prisoners. 
Calling  to  chat  with  these  unfortunates  a  few  min- 
utes, I  found  them  quite  sociable,  and  one,  in  par- 
ticular, very  ready  to  talk  about  the  trouble  that  had 
brought  him  there. 

His  name  was  Charley  Tuttle.  He  had  a  bad  flesh- 
wound  near  the  knee,  that  gave  him  a  great  deal 
of  pain,  but  he  was  in  good  spirits,  and  entirely 
cured  of  Secession.  He  cursed  the  leaders  of  tho 
(56) 


IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 


57 


rebellion,  and  everybody  that  encouraged  it.  Ho 
said  he  deserved  all  his  affliction,  and  wished  that 
all  the  "big  Indians"  who  brought  on  the  war 
might  get  a  Minie  two  feet  higher  than  he  got  his. 

As  I  was  about  to  leave  him,  he  said,  "Stranger, 
would  you  do  a  boy  in  my  fix  a  great  favor?" 

"To  be  sure  I  will,  if  possible.     What  is  it  ?" 

"I  would  like  to  have  you  write  a  little  letter  for 
me.  I  don't  want  you  to  think,  however,  I  am  such 
a  heathen  that  I  can't  write  myself.  But  somehow, 
it  aint  handy.  No  paper,  pon  or  ink,  and  I  would 
have  to  be  waited  upon  a  heap ;  so  if  you  would  just 
do  it  for  me  you  would  oblige  me  much." 

"Of  course  I  will." 

The  pencil  and  paper  were  soon  ready. 

"Now,  what  shall  I  write?" 

"Stop  a  minute.  Let  me  tell  you  a  little  about 
myself,  and  then  you  can  fix  it  up  to  suit  the  case. 
I  live  in  Shenandoah  County,  Virginia.  When  the 
war-fever  was  at  the  highest  pitch  a  year  ago,  I  was 
in  Alabama,  and,  like  all  the  other  fools,  enlisted. 
You  see  where  I  am,  and  what  I  got.  My  parents 
know  of  my  enlisting,  but  I  presume  they  have  never 
heard  from  me  since.  Have  written  two  or  three 
letters,  but  reckon  the  mails  aint  of  much  account 
South,  whatever  they  may  be  North.  But  non- 
sense!  why  can't  I  come  to  the  point?  Just  tell 


58  IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 

the  old  folks  where  I  am,  and  about  my  leg,  and  I 
don't  care  if  you  tell  them  I  am  glad  I  was  hit; 
for  I  have  had  soldiering  enough.  They  that  .want 
more  can  have  it.  Tell  them  I  shall  go  home  as 
soon  as  I  can  get  there.  I  don't  know  as  I  can  get 
a  discharge,  but  the  doctor  says  I  shall  have  a  stiff 
knee,  so  I  reckon  I  may  get  one  some  time." 

Writing  a  letter  as  much  to  his  liking  as  possible, 
I  inquired,  "How  shall  it  be  directed?" 

"Nehemiah  Tuttle,  New  Market,  Shenandoah  Co., 
Virginia.  Write  on  the  bottom,  six  miles  up  the 
pike  towards  Harrisonburg,  and  he  will  get  it." 

"But,  my  boy,  I  am  going  up  the  valley  in  a 
week  or  two,  and  what  do  you  say  to  my  going  to 
see  your  parents?" 

"Do  you  mean  it?  Why,  if  I  had  any  money  I 
would  certainly  divide  with  you,  if  you  would  go. 
They  are  poor,  but  will  give  you  a  hearty  wel- 
come." 

Telling  him  I  would  post  the  letter,  and,  further, 
if  it  were  possible  would  see"  his  parents,  I  was 
about  to  leave  him,  when  some  of  his  comrades 
spoke  up,  and  wished  me  to  write  for  them.  But 
one  lived  in  North  Carolina,  another  in  Culpepper, 
and  a  third  in  Leesburg,  Virginia ;  and  I  told  them 
it  would  be  useless  to  try  to  get  any  letters  to  any 
one  of  those  places ;  and  thought  it  very  doubtful 


IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 


59 


about  the  letter  in  my  hands  reaching  the  place 
intended,  but  it  might.  But  the  steamer  for  the 
Whitehouse  was  ready,  and  there  was  only  time  to 
say  good-by. 

I  found  the  army  in  fine  spirits.  The  successful 
issue  of  the  little  battles  at  Williamsburg  and  York- 
town,  had  inspired  all  with  fresh  courage.  Every 
one  seemed  impatient  for  an  advance,  that  a  decisive 
blow  might  be  struck  before  the  weather  became 
hotter ;  for  even  then,  at  mid-day,  it  was  often 
scorching.  Who  that  saw  that  grand  army  of  nearly 
a  hundred  thousand  thoroughly  equipped  and  well- 
disciplined  men  move  out  by  different  roads  on  that 
memorable  Monday  morning,  can  ever  forget  the 
scene?  Infantry,  cavalry  and  artillery,  in  due  pro- 
portion. There  were  the  Springfield  rifle,  the  breech- 
loading  and  the  Spencer.  There  were  the  six-pound 
J^apoleons,  the  twelve-pound  howitzers,  and  the 
large  siege  guns.  There  was  the  little  Coffee-mill 
Battery,  with  eight  guns,  that  threw  four-ounce  balls, 
and  there  was  the  Lowe  Balloon.  The  Berdan  sharp- 
shooters, the  terror-striking  Zouaves,  and  the  Irish 
Brigade,  were  all  there.  The  long  roll  began  before 
daylight,  and  by  eight  o'clock  there  was  little  to  be 
seen  at  the  Wliitehouse,  but  sutler  and  hospital  tents. 

Meeting  no  opposition  till  within  some  ten  miles 
of  Richmond,  nothing  of  moment  occurred  till  the 


60  IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 

battle  of  Fair  Oaks.  Leaving  the  front,  I  returned 
to  Baltimore,  purchased  three  hundred  dollars  worth 
of  postage-stamps,  and  started  for  the  Shenandoah 
Valley.  The  cars  took  me  with  little  interruption  to 
Winchester,  where  I  expected  to  find  Banks'  Army. 
But  there  were  few  troops  in  this  old  dilapitated 
town.  Some  German  regiments  were  near  by,  but 
the  town  was  guarded,  principally,  by  the  10th 
Maine.  The  most  reliable  information  I  could  ob- 
tain about  Banks'  troops  located  them  some  fifty  or 
sixty  miles  up  the  valley.  There  was  a  stage  run- 
ning to  Strasburg,  eighteen  miles,  but  its  time  of 
starting  not  suiting  me,  I  slung  my  knapsack  and 
started  out  alone.  Three  or  four  miles  from  the 
town  I  saw  a  large  number  of  men  half  a  mile  from 
the  road,  busy  at  something  which  excited  my  curi- 
osity, and  went  to  ascertain  what  they  were  about. 
They  were  burying  the  dead  killed  in  battle  a  day  or 
t\vo  before,  in  the  fight  between  the  armies  under 
Jackson  and  Shields.  Some  think  it  was  at  this 
battle  that  Jackson  received  the  title  of  Stonewall. 
It  is  a  mistake  :  he  received  it  in  Mexico. 

The  road  was  fine,  the  day  not  very  hot,  and  Stras- 
burg, my  first  halting-place,  was  easily  reached ;  no 
signs  of  an  army  here.  Passing  on,  in  due  time  I 
came  to  Woodstock,  and  still  farther,  to  Mount  Jack- 
son. There  were  some  troops  in  each  of  these 


IN  GAMP  AND   HOSPITAL.  6 1 

places,  but  none  could,  or  would,  tell  me  where  the 
main  army  was.  But  in  two  days,  having  travelled 
on  foot  seventy  miles,  I  found  General  Banks'  head- 
quarters at  New  Market.  The  only  noticeable  thing 
about  this  town  then  discernible  was  a  Yankee 
school-marm,  who  had  a  sort  of  female  seminary ; 
she  was  the  most  rabid  Secessionist  I  could  hear  of. 
I  found  but  one  division,  —  General  Williams',  — 
here,  and  a  brigade  two  miles  below  the  town,  to 
guard  the  bridge  at  the  Shenandoah ;  but  most  of  the 
troops  were  still  farther  up  the  valley.  Resting  over 
night,  then  pushing  on  for  the  front,  I  found  General 
Shields  in  his  tent,  not  confined  to  his  bed,  though 
suffering  from  the  wound  received  at  Winchester. 
Though  presenting  my  pass,  I  was  arrested  as  a  spy, 
and  on  the  point  of  being  sent  back  to  head-quarters ; 
but  a  Lieutenant-Colonel  Clark,  of  one  of  the  Ohio 
regiments,  had  recognized  mo  an  hour  previous  as 
an  old  schoolmate  in  New  Hampshire,  and  this 
fact,  communicated  to  the  Colonel  who  arrested  me, 
made  all  things  pleasant.  Distributing  my  postage- 
stamps,  giving  my  usual  entertainment  of  song  and 
lecture  with  the  different  regiments  and  batteries,  I 
started  off  in  search  of  Mr.  Tuttle.  It  was  not  an 
easy  matter  to  find  him.  I  knew  his  residence  must 
bo  but  a  few  miles  from  these  troops,  but  which  sido 
of  the  pike  I  knew  not,  and  could  find  no  one  wha 


62  IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 

knew  him.  But  farther  away  from  New  Market, 
and  farther  from  the  pike  than  was  expected,  I  found 
Nehemiah  Tuttle. 

On  rapping  at  the  door  of  a  very  small,  poor 
house,  a  tall,  old,  unshaven  and  unshorn  half-drunken 
Virginian  made  his  appearance.  My  first  thought 
was,  if  this  is  Charley's  father  I  do  not  blame  the 
boy  for  leaving  home,  or  enlisting,  and  probably  he 
will  be  in  no  hurry  to  come  back.  But  having 
called  the  old  man  to  the  door,  I  must  tell  him  my 
business. 
•  "  Is  this  Mr.  Tuttle  ?  " 

"I  reckon." 

"  Have  you  a  son  whose  name  is  Charley  ?  " 

"I  reckon." 

"Did  he  enlist  in  the  24th  Alabama?" 

"  Can't  say  precisely  as  to  that ;  but,  stranger, 
•what  yer  driving  at?  What  do  yer  know  about 
Charley  Tuttle?" 

"Indeed,  sir,  indeed  sir,"  chimed  in  the  old  lady, 
who  had  become  so  much  excited  she  could  not  keep 
silent,  "we  have  a  boy  whose  name  is  Charley,  and 
a  good  boy  he  is,  or,  leastwise,  a  good  boy  he  was, 
when  ho  went  away.  Has  anything  happened  to 
him?" 

I  proceeded  to  tell  her  about  him,  and  had  given 


IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL.  63 

her  about  all  the  facts  hi  the  case,  when  the  old 
man  interrupted : 

"Stranger,  yer  are  a  Northern  man,  and  I  don't 
believe  a  word  yer  say.  I  reckon  yer  a  spy,  and 
have  come  with  this  story  to  git  some  whiskey  and 
victuals.  I've  a  mind  to  put  yer  out  of  my  house, 
and  git  shet  of  yer." 

"  Don't  do  it.  Treat  the  man  kind.  I  knows  he 
tells  the  truth.  I  knows  it  by  the  tones.  I  tells  by 
the  tones  whether  folks  lies  or  not ;  and,"  addressing 
herself  to  me,  "  it  'pears  like  yo u  have  seen  Charley  ? 
And  is  he  hurt  bad?  Will  he  lose  his  leg?  DM 
you  see  the  wound  ?  Did  it  look  very  bad  ?  Will 
Jie  get  well?  Will  he  have  enough  to  eat?  O,  that 
my  poor  boy  should  be  in  the  enemy's  prison  !  And 
who  is  to  pay  you?" 

r  I  have  come  out  of  my  way  but  a  few  miles." 

"You  must  stay  over  night." 

The  old  man  had  got  over  his  suspicion  enough 
to  invite  me  twice  to  try  his  whiskey.  Declining 
both  invitations,  I  positively  refused  staying,  as  the 
rebel  pickets  were  scarcely  two  miles  distant ;  but 
promised  to  call  again  in  two  days,  and  take  dinner, 
if  the  army  remained  in  its  present  position.  Call- 
ing according  to  promise,  I  found  she  had  dinner 
nearly  ready.  No  matter  what  it  consisted  of,  the 
articles  that  most  interested  me  were  warm  biscuit 


64  IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 

and  some  honey.  This  time  the  old  man  was  sober ; 
his  beard  had  been  removed,  his  hair  combed,  and  he 
presided  at  the  table  with  considerable  dignity, 
though  his  language  was  no  more  correct  than  on  my 
previous  visit. 

The  meal  was  scarcely  concluded,  when  the  sharp 
crack  of  a  rifle  was  heard,  followed  immediately  by 
many  more.  Springing  to  the  open  door,  and  watch- 
ing the  smoke  of  the  guns,  we  could  see  that  the 
pickets  were  skirmishing,  and  that  the  boys  in  the 
blue  blouses  were  falling  back.  I  was  not  long  in 
comprehending  the  situation.  A  poor  runner,  and 
two  miles  from  the  main  army,  what  was  to  be 
done?  There  was  no  forest  to  flee  to. 

"  Old  man,  you  must  hide  me.  I  have  done  you 
a  Uvor,  now  it  is  your  turn  to  do  one  for  me." 

"That  I  will,  if  I  can.  Ma'm,  where  shall  we  put 
this  yere  man  ?  " 

"Put  me  in  the  attic,  and  cover  me  with  bed- 
ding." 

"Why,  man,  we  have  no  attic.  Here,  git  yer 
inter  this  turnip  and  pertater  hole,  and  I  reckon  yer 
will  do  well  enough." 

A  second  invitation  was  not  needed.  It  was  a  sort 
of  cellar,  the  only  one  he  had,  and  I  went  into  it 
on  all-fours,  as  quickly  as  ever  a  soldier  entered  a 
bomb-proof.  The  skirmish  lasted  but  a  short  time, 


IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL.  65 

and  before  dark  I  was  back  with  the  army.  One  of 
the  saddest  sights  I  ever  witnessed,  was  presented  in 
camp  that  night :  one  of  the  5th  New  York  Cavalry 
was  struck,  during  the  skirmish,  by  a  ball,  cutting 
across  the  abdomen  in  such  a  manner  that  his  bowels 
began  to  fall  out,  and  he  held  them  in  place  while  he 
rode  two  miles,  to  die  with  the  setting  sun. 

Before  starting  from  Winchester  up  the  valley,  I 
found  many  things  very  interesting  to  me,  some  of 
which  may  be  to  the  reader.  I  had  been  in  no  place 
but  Baltimore,  where  the  Secesh  element  was  impu- 
dent and  insulting.  All  through  Virginia,  where 
the  different  armies  had  been,  the  people  were  re- 
spectful and  submissive.  No  men  but  old  ones  were 
to  be  seen,  and  the  women,  young  and  old,  made  but 
little  conversation  with  our  men.  Evidently  they 
had  made  up  their  minds  to  have  as  little  to  do  with 
us  as  possible.  At  Harper's  Ferry,  though  a  large 
part  of  the  houses  were  appropriated  for  army  pur- 
poses, I  witnessed  no  unlady-like  demeanor  on  the 
part  of  the  women.  Not  so  at  Winchester. 

Men  told  me  they  had  seen  women  spit  upon 
soldiers,  but  I  never  believed  it,  for  they  did  not 
dare  to  do  it ;  they  went,  in  the  matter  of  insult,  as 
far  as  they  dared.  If  the  women  of  New  Orleans 
were  more  vituperous  than  those  of  Winchester, 
Butler  was  much  too  mild  a  governor.  At  this  time, 


66  IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 

they  felt  that  Jackson  could  take  the  city  at  any  hour 
he  pleased,  and  they  regarded  Banks,  Shields,  and  all 
the  other  Union  officers  they  had  seen,  as  beneath 
their  notice.  I  heard  there  were  Union  people  there, 
and  presume  there  were,  but  did  not  meet  any. 

If  there  were  any  men  who  were  proud  of  anything 
they  had  ever  done,  it  was  those  who  had  been  on 
guard,  or  in  some  way  had  assisted  at  the  execution 
of  old  John  Brown,  in  Charlestown,  some  twelve 
miles  north  of  the  city. 

I  visited  Mason's  house.  It  was  occupied  by  a 
squad  of  soldiers,  who  seemed  to  have  little  venera- 
tion for  the  rebel  minister-plenipotentiary  to  Eng- 
land. It  was  not  a  very  imposing  affair  in  its  best 
days,  not  costing,  originally,  probably  more  than 
five  thousand  dollars.  But  they  had  made  it  a 
shabby-looking  affair.  They  had  not  stabled  their 
horse's  in  it,  but  it  would  have  been  injured  little 
more,  used  as  a  stable.  Seeing  a  sign,  "  Warm  meaU 
at  moderate  prices,"  on  a  good-looking  house,  I  pro- 
ceeded to  investigate  it.  I  was  soon  face  to  face 
with  the  landlady,  who  was  as  gracious  as  any  Boni- 
face could  have  been,  and  as  much  at  ease  as  if  she 
had  been  educated  at  the  business  of  hotel-keeping. 
But  it  was  a  new  calling.  Her  husband  was  a  Cap- 
tain in  the.  Rebel  Army ;  and,  as  I  afterwards 
learned,  when  the  Confederates  were  there  she  kept 


IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL.  6f 

open  house  for  the  officers;  but  when  the  Union 
troops  were  present,  hung  out  her  sign,  and  kept  a 
boarding-house. 

The  meal  was  warm,  and  well  it  might  have  been, 
for  there  was  but  little  to  warm.  Corn-dodgers, 
tough  steak,  and  mean  coffee,  with  milk  that  might 
have  been  good  but  for  the  garlic  the  cow  had  eaten, 
and  sugar,  but  HO  butter, — -this  was  the  breakfast; 
and  the  moderate  price,  one  dollar.  While  I  ate  I 
was  entertained  by  the  daughter,  who  sang  and 
played  "My  Maryland,"  probably  for  my  special 
benefit.  Perhaps  it  was  a  trick  of  her  mother,  to 
keep  me  in  good  humor  till  the  bill  was  paid.  The 
music  of  the  song  was  so  sweet,  and  she  sang  it  so 
artlessly,  playing  the  most  simple  and  appropriate 
accompaniment,  that  I  heeded  not  the  words.  Giv- 
ing the  customary  compliments  to  the  young  lady,  I 
was  about  to  depart,  when  the  mother  wished  to 
know  if  I  played  and  sang.  I  assured  her  that  though 
not  much  gifted  in  music,  yet  lyric  poetry  had  a  great 
charm  for  me,  and  that  charm  was  greatly  heightened 
by  such  sweet,  artless  singing  as  her  daughter  had 
treated  me  to. 

"I  have  just  written  some  verses,  and  have  not 
thought  of  any  tune  they  are  adapted  to.  If  you 
would  not  take  offence,  I  would  like  to  show  them. 
Perhaps  you  could  suggest  an  appropriate  tune." 


68  Of  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 

The  lyric  had  no  title,  but  I  am  enabled  to  present 
the  reader  with  the  words,  and  he  can  give  a  title  to 
suit  himself:  — 


"Come  on,  you  blue-back  locusts, 
You  nutmeg-peddling  braves, 
"We'll  give  you  Southern  welcome, 
To  rot  in  Southern  graves. 

We  give  you  scorn  and  loathing, 
You  mongrel-blooded  crew ; 
The  scum  of  all  creation, 
Vile,  crawling  worms  in  blue. 

With  maws  like  greedy  horse-leech, 
That  always  cries  for  more, 
You  have  the  taste  for  plunder, 
If  not  the  heart  for  gore. 

A  wench,  and  then  a  dollar, 
Prime  doctrines  of  your  creed ; 
In  fact,  you  need  the  wenches 
To  brighten  up  your  breed." 

Studying  this  highly  poetic,  as  well  as  very  chaste 
and  flattering  poem,  briefly,  I  told  her  tlio  muses  had 


IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 


69 


been  not  only  liberal,  but  lavish  in  bestowing  favors 
upon  her;  and  that  possibly,  with  a  little  time,  I 
could  think  of  an  appropriate  tune.  While  pre- 
tending to  be  hunting  a  tune  out  of  my  memory,  I 
wrote  the  following : — 


'  My  gentle  dear,  I've  called  in  here, 
With  stomach  faint  and  *  holler ; ' 
Your  dodgers  mean  I've  eaten  clean, 
And  paid  your  price, — a  dollar. 

Eight  well  I  like  your  F.  F.  Vs., 
You  beat  us  Yanks  all f  holler ; ' 
You've  such  aristocratic  ways 
Of  reaching  our  last  dollar. 

You're  such  a  darling  poetess, 
I'd  like  to  be  your  scholar ; 
Hang  out  your  shingle  '  poetry,' 
Each  lesson  but  a  dollar. 

Your  temper's  so  angelic,  too, 
So  free  from  spite  and  choler, 
Your  picture,  in  your  sweetest  mood, 
Would  go  quick  at  a  dollar. 


IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 

I'm  grateful  that  I  came  to  you, 
A  hungry  morning  caller ; 
I  now  know  how  much  coffee-grounds 
Are  worth  a  Yankee  dollar." 


Folding  and  returning  the  paper,  I  remarked  that 
the  muses  had  sometimes  vouchsafed  small  favors  to 
me,  and  that  I  had  written  an  addition  to  her  hymn ; 
that  my  part  was  to  be  sung  in  Yankee  Doodle,  and 
probably  hers  would  go  in  Virginia  Reel ;  but,  at  all 
events,  should  we  ever  meet  again  I  should  be 
happy  to  exchange  billets-doux  or  hymns. 


CHAPTEE    IV. 

HOSPITALS. 

A  GOOD  army  surgeon  is  a  treasure,  while  a  poor 
one  is  an  affliction.  Skill  is  not  the  only  requisite 
quality.  Sterling  principles,  a  tender  conscience, 
and  a  great  heart,  find  daily  opportunities  for  the 
exercise  of  their  functions,  carrying  sunshine  and 
comfort  to  the  boys  on  the  hospital  couch,  while  he 
who  is  without  them,  though  ever  so  thoroughly 
skilled  in  his  profession s  should  be  left  to  write  pre- 
scriptions and  use  his  scalpel  at  home.  In  the  army, 
the  surgeon  stands  in  the  place  of  parent,  wife,  or 
sister ;  and,  if  he  have  the  heart  of  a  Christian,  his 
patients  will  feel  it,  and  his  heart-power  will  reach 
deeper  than  his  medicines ;  and  in  this  respect  the 
soldier  cannot  be  deceived.  An  ignoramus  may  be 
imposed  upon  a  regiment,  and  the  boy  whose  limb  is 
to  be  amputated  may  not  know  that  he  is  to  be  the 
doctor's  first  patient  in  surgery,  but  every  one  knows 
the  difference  between  a  kind  man  and  one  destitute 
of  this  quality.  There  is  something  in  the  tone  of 
(70 


72  IN   CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 

voice,  the  touch,  the  bearing,  that  tells  better  than 
a  certificate  the  moral  qualities  of  the  professed 
healer. 

In  the  army  hospital,  Heaven  help  the  sick  soldier 
if  his  surgeon  is  an  ignoramus,  a  drunkard,  or  is  des- 
titute of  sympathy.  It  would  seem  that  none  but 
the  duly  qualified  should  ever  have  obtained  a  po- 
sition like  this.  For  the  efficiency  of  the  army,  if 
for  nothing  else,  none  but  the  best  qualified  should 
have  been  appointed  as  surgeons.  A  sick  soldier  can 
neither  fight  nor  work,  and  he  may  require  a  well 
one  to  take  care  of  him ;  hence  it  becomes  of  great 
importance  that  he  whose  duty  it  is  to  look  after 
the  health  of  the  men,  should  do  all  in  his  power  to 
prevent  sickness,  as  well  as  cure.  The  loss  of  an 
efficient  soldier  cannot  be  supplied  in  a  day  or  a 
mouth.  A  recruit  may  be  found,  but  he  must  be  fed, 
clothed,  drilled,  disciplined  and  paid,  at  least  six 
months  before  he  is  worth  as  much  as  the  one  lost. 

There  are  tens  of  thousands  of  our  "boys  in  blue" 
who  remember,  with  undying  gratitude,  the  noble 
men  who  cared  for  them,  almost  like  mothers,  in 
their  sickness  and  pains ;  while  there  are  many 
others,  whose  surgeon's  name,  spoken  in  their 
presence,  fills  them  with  loathing  and  anger.  He 
stands  before  them  the  picture  of  indifference  and 
incompetency,  if  nothing  worse.  They  feel  that  they 


IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 


73 


are  alive  not  through,  but  in  spite  of,  their  hateful 
doctor. 

The  surgeon's  berth  was  no  sinecure  ;  and  I  marvel 
that  any  good,  experienced  physician  should  have 
accepted  the  position,  but  from  motives  of  humanity. 

It  was  a  poor  home-practice,  indeed,  that  did  not 
yield  an  army  surgeon's  pay.  But  whatever  the 
motive  that  took  them  there,  the  competent,  the 
good  and  the  true,  were  by  no  means  rare.  A  great 
many  young  physicians  went  thither  more  for  prac- 
tice in  surgery  than  for  any  other  reason  ;  yet  some 
of  them,  in  a  short  time,  ranked  among  the  best. 
But  among  the  surgeons,  as  well  as  all  others,  there 
were  the  good,  the  bad,  and  the  indifferent.  It  was 
impossible  to  prevent  all  but  worthy  men  from 
securing  appointments,  but  one  can  but  be  amazed 
when  he  realizes  that  there  are  men  who  were  army- 
surgeons  to  whose  care  we  would  not  be  willing  to 
intrust  a  sick  or  disabled  horse. 

A  civilian  who  visited  the  army  at  Arlington,  in 
the  winter  of  1861  —  '62,  can  never  forget  the  new  and 
strange  impressions  received.  He  was  astonished  at 
all  he  saw  and  heard  :  at  the  number  of  troops,  the 
extent  of  ground  occupied,  the  immense  area  of 
fresh-cut  stumps,  the  trees  from  which  had  been 
consumed,  the  interminable  trains  of  wagons  that 
seemed  to  be  always  moving,  the  fog,  the  mud,  and 


74 


IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 


the  fairy-like  music  from  a  hundred  bands, — music 
which,  while  all  was  enveloped  in  the  densest  fog, 
seemed  to  come,  as  indeed  it  did,  from  an  invisible 
world.  But  what  moved  him  most  deeply,  if  he  were 
a  man  of  humane  feelings,  were  the  burials  and  the 
burial  places.  Yonder  moves  a  little  procession  ovei 
the  fenceless  field.  Its  number  is  small .  The  bugler 
blowing  from  his  instrument  the  most  dismal  notes, 
the  chaplain,  the  bearers,  a  dozen  others,  and  a 
lifeless  comrade  comprise  the  train.  The  burial 
service  is  read,  the  solemn  work  is  speedily  done,  a 
head-board,  bearing  in  knife-cut  or  red  chalk,  the 
name,  company  and  regiment,  is  placed  at  the  head 
of  the  grave,  and  that  is  the  earthly  end  of  the  boy, 
who,  but  a  few  weeks  since,  left,  in  the  bloom  of 
youth,  a  happy  home. 

Even  then,  before  there  had  been  a  battle,  except 
that  of  Bull  Eun,  the  hospital  was  a  solemn  place. 
It  was  not  uncommon  to  find  one-fifth  of  the  regi- 
ment unfit  for  duty.  But  when  the  time  of  conflict 
came,  and  the  battles,  the  scorching  days,  with  cool 
and  dewy  nights,  the  malarious  air,  and  the  poisonous 
waters  of  the  Chickahominy,  brought  the  men  to  the 
hospital,  there  were  spectacles  to  make  the  stoutest 
heart  quake.  At  Whitehouse  Landing  there  were 
ai  one  time  not  less  than  thirty  burials  at  night,  and 
as  many,  or  more,  in  the  morning.  At  Nashville  the 


IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 


75 


daily  burials  for  a  long  time  averaged  nearly  fifty, 
though  there  had  not  been  a  battle  in  the  department 
for  months. 

It  always  seemed  to  me  that  there  was  an  un- 
necessary waste  of  life  in  our  late  war.  I  do  not 
know  that  it  was  ever  less  in  any  war,  but  I  cannot 
avoid  believing,  that,  with  proper  care  in  sleeping, 
a  large  percentage  of  sickness  could  have  been 
avoided.  The  trouble  does  not  arise  so  much  from 
want  of  covering,  as  from  want  of  a  suitable  bed. 
Frequently  there  is  nothing  but  some  brush,  and 
pieces  of  board  saved  from  cracker-boxes  and  barrel- 
heads between  the  boy  in  his  blanket,  and  the  mud 
or  frozen  earth.  It  may  be  said  that  these  things 
are  unavoidable  ;  sometimes  they  arc,  but  often  they 
are  suffered  for  want  of  care  on  the  part  of  the  com- 
manding officer  or  of  the  surgeon.  I  know  surgeons 
who,  when  the  regiment  pitched  their  tents  in  a  new 
place,  never  retired  till  they  knew  how  every  squad 
was  to  sleep.  The  guard-houses  of  our  army  were, 
in  many  cases,  a  shame  to  those  who  permitted  their 
existence.  Those  who  saw,  as  I  did,  and  often,  a 
regiment  at  dress-parade,  coughing  so  violently  that 
they  shook  the  ground  fifty  feet  front  and  rear,  must 
feel  that  such  things  need  not  have  been.  There 
was  an  improvement  in  a  year  or  two,  but  not  what 
inuHit  have  been. 


76  IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 

A  noticeable  feature  in  hospital  life  was  the  uncom- 
plaining patience  of  the  sufferers  ;  nearly  all  seemed 
to  feel  that  there  were  many  worse  cases  than  their 
own,  and  bore  themselves  with  praiseworthy  forti- 
tude. The  amputating  scenes,  with  exceptional 
cases,  were  not  nearly  so  harrowing  as  we  might 
expect.  As  a  general  rule,  the  patient  was  put 
under  the  influence  of  chloroform,  and  the  work 
done  without  his  knowledge.  I  witnessed  some 
cases,  however,  where  the  torture  was  all  that  I 
could  well  conceive.  In  a  cavalry  skirmish,  near 
Murfreesboro',  one  of  our  men  was  shot  in  the  lower 
part  of  the  body.  The  surgeon,  before  attempting 
to  find  the  ball,  gave  him  chloroform  three  times ; 
but  in  each  case  he  vomited  and  struggled  so,  that 
nothing  could  be  done.  At  length  the  boy  told  the 
operator  and  his  assistants  that  he  could  stand  the 
pain,  that  they  had  better  grasp  him  tightly,  yet  he 
could  keep  still  without  their  strength.  For  a  full 
half  hour  did  the  surgeon  probe  the  wound,  causing 
him  most  exquisite  torture,  when  the  ball  was  found. 
It  seemed  to  me  that  it  was  akin  to  the  suffering  of 
being  nailed  to  the  cross  ;  yet  in  six  months  he  was 
a  lively  trooper  again. 

Men  die  in  the  same  tent  where  you  lie  sick,  and 
you  do  not  know  it  until  you  see  the  attendants  carry 
out  the  stretcher  that  was  your  comrade's  dying  bed. 


TN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 


77 


You  knew  there  had  been  no  distressing  coughing 
for  two  or  three  hours,  a  thing  quite  uncommon, 
and  you  had  been  dozing,  perhaps  sleeping,  but 
Death  had  been  at  your  side  unobserved.  That 
cough  will  never  disturb  you,  or  distress  that  con- 
sumptive boy  again. 

But  Death  does  not  always  steal  into  the  hospital 
like  this.  Sometimes  a  brother  of  the  patient  is  in 
the  same  regiment,  and  is  permitted  to  nurse  and 
assist,  if  there  is  no  urgent  duty  to  prevent.  This 
brother  has  been  told  that  the  end  is  near.  Speech- 
less, and  almost  motionless,  he  sits  on  a  box  by  the 
cot  of  his  dying  brother,  till  the  last  spark  is  gone. 
Then,  with  a  wail  he  can  no  longer  repress,  he  pours 
forth  his  grief,  — "O,  my  dear  and  only  brother,  my 
mother's  idol,  why  did  I  urge  you  to  come  here? 
here  to  suffer,  and  here  to  die  ?  "  His  grief  is  irre- 
pressible, and  the  steward  is  obliged  to  take  him 
away. 

Watching  with  the  sick  in  hospital  is  much  the 
same  as  watching  with  the  sick  at  home,  with  this 
difference  :  in  the  latter  case,  you  watch  generally 
over  one  patient,  in  the  former,  over  a  number; 
and,  furthermore,  in  the  hospital-tent  the  mother 
never  surprises  you  by  coming  in  on  tip-toe,  to 
assure  herself  that  all  is  going  well. 

It  sometimes  happens  that  there  will  be  two  or 


78  IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 

three  in  the  same  ward  that  are  delirious.  A  ser- 
geant imagines  he  is  drilling  a  squad  of  recruits, 
and  for  an  hour  he  is  giving  orders  :  "  Attention  !  — 
Mark  time  !  —  Left,  right,  left,  right,  march  !  — 
Left,  right,  left,  right,  file  right,  march! — Halt!  — 
Front! — Right  dress!"  An  orderly  is  making  up 
his  detail :  Bill  Tarble  and  Amos  Wood  are  to  go 
on  picket.  Eben  Pike,  and  Sol.  Smith,  for  camp- 
guard.  His  book  is  lost,  and  he  cannot  tell  whose 
turn  it  is  for  this  duty,  or  for  that.  Another  is 
fighting  over  the  battle  of  last  week,  when  a  part 
of  his  scalp  was  shot  away.  Another  is  trying  to 
load  his  gun,  but  his  ram-rod  is  lost,  and  he  cannot 
find  it.  And  still  another  is  singing  "John  Brown's 
body  lies  mouldering  in  the  ground,"  or  "Brother, 
when  will  you  come  back?" 

The  reader  must  not  get  the  impression  that  hos- 
pitals are  generally  like  a  dead-room.  In  the  cities, 
some  of  the  wards  presented  the  appearance  of 
cheerfulness  the  greater  part  of  the  time.  It  is  won- 
derful in  how  short  a  period  a  young  man  who  has 
lost  a  limb  becomes  reconciled  to  it. 

The  patients  are  often  more  cheereful  than  the  at- 
tendants. Jokes,  conundrums,  scraps  of  poetry, 
anything  that  will  create  amusement,  are  often  as 
common  in  hospitals  as  anywhere. 

"  Well,  boys,  there  is  no  great  loss  without  some 


IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 


79 


small  gain ;  my  shoe-maker's  bill  will  not  be  so  large 
as  it  has  been." 

"  Sam  Talbot  and  I  are  going  to  buy  our  gloves 
together." 

"A  good  idea ;  and  if  you  know  any  chap  who  has 
lost  his  left,  when  we  get  out  we  will  buy  our  boots 
together." 

"But  won't  this  stump  be  a  pretty  thing  to  take 
home  for  a  show  ?  " 

"  Why,  man,  they  say  a  cork  leg  is  better  than  the 
original.'* 

"I  am  going  home  to  marry  a  widow  whose  hus- 
band was  a  soldier-boy." 

"  Most  likely  !  Having  got  rid  of  one  fool,  do  you 
think  she  would  want  another?" 

"Why  is  a  woman  like  an  apple?" 

"Because    she    improves    by  age,    until    she  is 


"Why  is  a  hospital  like  a  saloon?" 
"Because  it  has  many  ails." 
"  Why  is  a  surgeon  like  our  chaplain?" 
"Because  he  is  such  a,  feeling  man." 
"Why  is  our  cook  like  an  emigrant?" 
"Because  he  has  to  raise  his  bread  among  the 
stumps." 

"Why  is  a  stump-arm  like  a  fool?" 
"Because  one  is  enough  for  a  family." 


8o  IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 

"Oh,  the  weather  is  bad,  and  the  whiskey  is  bad, 
Bad  luck  to  the  mud  and  the  drizzle, 
Though  they  chop  us  up  like  sausage-meat, 
The  war  is  a  murthering  fizzle. 

"The  rebs  have  taken  the  best  of  me  legs, 
Bad  luck  to  the  chap  that  hit  it, 
If  uncle  Sam  gives  me  a  cork  for  me  stump, 
I  hope  'twill  be  one  that  will  fit  it." 

"O,  Phin  Taylor,  dry  up  !  If  you  ever  have  any 
cork  it  will  be  for  your  whiskey  bottle ;  but  what 
kind  of  Dutch  blarney  is  that  you're  getting  off  for 
poetry?  You  are  neither  a  poet  nor  an  Irishman." 

"I  can  prove  that  I  am  both,  I  will  bet  you  the 
drinks." 

"Agreed  :  now  prove  yourself  a  poet." 

"  Give  me  a  subject.  Anything  from  a  beetle  to 
an  elephant,  and  I  will  make  you  an  illigant  poem 
on  the  spot." 

"Tell  us  how  you  are  going  to  earn  a  living  with 
a  stump  leg?" 

"  There's  a  quary  that's  been  botherin'  me  head  for  awhile, 
I've  sought  till  I'm  tired  for  an  answer  ; 
How's  me  bread  and  me  mate  and  me  grog  to  be  arned, 
But  I  have  it,  —  I'll  be  a  rope  dancer." 


IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL.  Si 

w  But  how  can  you  claim  to  be  an  Irishman  when 
your  parents  were  Massachusetts  Yankees  ?  " 

"  They  took  me  to  Ireland  to  have  me  born." 

"I  give  it  up,  — I  will  pay  the  whiskey  as  soon  as  it 
is  included  in  our  rations  and  I  get  more  than  I  want 
for  my  own  use." 

Yet  cheerful,  and  even  jovial,  as  some  of  the 
patients  were,  I  never  saw  a  hospital  that  did  not 
present  sights  that  were  painful,  while  some  of  them 
were  so  horrible  that  they  have  haunted  me  in  my 
dreams  to  this  day.  A  poor  Irish  boy  had  his 
foot  and  ankle  so  shattered  at  Malvern  Hills,  that 
they  were  but  a  mass  of  crushed  bone  and  flesh,  black 
with  powder  from  the  bursting  shell  that  wounded 
him.  After  all  the  wagons  and  surgeons  had  left 
Carter's  Landing  on  the  James,  I  found  this  sufferer 
in  one  of  the  little  cottages  near  by.  A  negro  told 
me  of  him,  saying,  "Dey  is  all  done  gone  an'  leab  him. 
and  what  does  ye  reckon  me  an'  de  ole  woman  is 
gwine  to  do  wid  him  ?  " 

His  groans  were  almost  heartrending.  Carrying 
him  forward  was  out  of  the  question.  There  were 
but  two  well  soldiers,  and  the  old  negro,  for  help. 
My  mind  was  made  up.  If  the  boys  would  assist, 
I  would  amputate  the  limb  just  below  the  knee.  I 
had  seen  many  such  amputations,  but  had  no  instru- 
ments, While  the  negro  was  over  at  Colonel  Car- 
6 


82  IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 

ter's  house,  looking  after  the  best  instruments  he 
could  find  for  the  occasion,  other  negroes  raised  the 
shout  half  a  mile  above  us  that  "de  rebs  was  a  comin." 

Telling  the  old  colored  woman  to  be  sure  and  have 
her  husband  report  this  case  to  the  first  rebel  surgeon 
he  could  find,  the  two  soldiers  and  myself  started 
across  the  ravine  to  the  woods,  and  soon  striking 
the  trail  of  the  wagons,  in  due  time  reached  Har- 
rison's Landing.  But  what  became  of  Peter  Mc- 
Laughlin  I  never  learned.  But  I  have  seen  that 
black,  fmgmental  foot,  and  heard  that  wail  of  anguish, 
a  thousand  times  since.  He  was  not  the  only  sufferer 
left  in  the  hands  of  the  rebels.  All  the  way  from 
Games'  Mill,  in  the  farm-houses,  in  the  barns,  by 
the  roadside,  in  the  thickets,  by  the  streams,  the 
helpless  or  exhausted  wounded,  in  great  numbers, 
were  left  for  the  enemy  to  find. 

There  is  no  place  where  a  burial  is  not  a  solemn 
and  deeply  affecting  scene.  In  the  churchyard,  be- 
side his  kindred,  be  it  one  who  has  been  gathered 
like  a  ripened  shock,  and  for  whom  life  had  lost  its 
pleasures,  none  but  a  brutish  man  can  see  the  clay 
return  to  clay,  in  the  dismal  narrow  house  which  no 
sun-ray  can  ever  penetrate,  without  a  feeling  of  inex- 
pressible awe.  But  when  the  young,  the  manly,  the 
beautiful,  are  cut  down  like  a  flower  in  bloom,  when 
the  solemn  procession  arrives  at  the  home  of  the 


IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL.  83 

dead,  to  leave  the  dear  form  there  forever,  who  can 
hear  the  grating  of  the  descending  coffin,  or  the  rat- 
tling of  the  falling  pebbles,  without  a  shudder  that 
can  scarcely  be  forgotten  ?  And  a  burial  at  sea,  how 
solemn  !  But  there  are  scenes  in  war  more  harrowing 
than  these. 

Making  a  forced  march  through  a  wilderness  coun- 
try, we  are  sometimes  ambushed,  and  some  of  our 
men  shot  down  a  long  distance  from  human  habita- 
tions. There  is  neither  coffin,  nor  material  to  con- 
struct one.  Time  is  precious,  and  ere  our  comrade 
is  rigid  in  death,  wrapped  in  his  blanket,  we  have 
laid  him  in  a  wilderness  grave.  The  sound  from  the 
first  clods  that  strike  the  body  is  fearful ;  it  seems 
that  the  falling  earth  must  give  pain,  and  we  instinc- 
tively listen  for  a  groan.  But  we  must  hasten  our 
work,  and  weep,  grieve,  and  talk  of  his  virtues,  and 
of  his  mother,  whose  heart  will  almost  break  when 
she  gets  the  tidings,  afterwards.  A  few  stones  at 
the  head,  his  name  cut  in  a  tree,  the  bugle  sounds 
the  advance,  and,  sorrowing  and  watchful,  we  move 
on. 

Less  than  two  miles  north  of  Murfreesboro',  Ten- 
nessee, at  the  north-east  of  a  little  grove  of  oak, 
there  is  a  graveyard,  the  resting-place  of  several 
hundred  of  the  victims  of  Stone-River  battle.  In 
the  grove  was  one  of  the  field-hospitals ;  and  for 


84  IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 

two  weeks  or  more  succeeding  the  battle,  the  daily 
deaths  were  from  five  to  twenty.  At  about  the  time 
the  mortality  was  greatest,  there  came  a  territic 
storm  of  rain  and  snow.  Commencing  early  in  the 
morning,  and  constantly  increasing  till  sundown, 
the  rain  came  down  in  torrents,  and  the  wind  was 
fearful.  No  canvas  could  keep  out  the  water.  Tho 
fires  could  not  be  kept  up,  for  the  smoke  filled  the 
tents.  Beating  in  at  the  sides,  dripping  through  the 
tops,  rushing  in  at  the  bottom,  there  was  a  fearful 
deluge  of  water.  And  here  were  two  hundred  or 
more  sick  men,  some  of  them  dying,  with  a  few 
attendants  who  could  give  them  little  but  sympathy. 
Could  we  procure  dry  blankets,  they  would  be  wet 
in  an  hour.  At  midnight  the  rain  ceased,  and  snow 
followed,  with  a  chilling  atmosphere. 

Vrill  not  the  sick  freeze  before  morning?  But 
nothing  can  be  done.  There  are  no  dry  blankets, 
and  the  wet  ones  cannot  be  dried.  We  must  wait 
and  suffer,  and,  perhaps,  some  of  us  perish.  Slowly 
the  night  wears  away.  Only  fifteen  have  died  during 
the  storm. 

By  noon  the  blankets  have  been  dried,  and  a  de- 
gree of  comfort  has  been  imparted  to  the  sick.  But 
here  is  a  German,  thirty-five  years  of  age,  perhaps, 
who  has  lived  through  the  fearful  night,  but  will  see 
the  dawning  of  but  few  more  mornings.  His  end 


IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL.  85 

draws  near.  With  one  of  the  sweetest  countenances 
ever  seen,  and  a  beautiful  blue  eye,  he  made  a  deep 
impression  upon  me  before  he  uttered  a  word.  But 
when  he  answered  my  question,  " How  have  you  stood 
the  terrible  storm?"  there  was  such  a  sweetness  of 
expression,  and  his  words  were  so  well  chosen,  that 
I  saw  at  once  I  was  in  the  presence  of  a  remark- 
able man.  He  could  talk  without  difficulty,  but  he 
knew  his  wound  was  mortal.  In  his  native  country 
he  was  once  a  preacher,  but,  becoming  a  Rationalist, 
he  abandoned  the  profession,  and  sought  a  living  by 
some  small  business. 

But  not  thriving  much  by  trade  there,  he  came  to 
America,  hoping  for  better  success  here.  Yet  all 
his  efforts  failed.  Being  offered  a  large  bounty,  he 
enlisted,  and,  in  his  first  campaign,  was  mortally 
wounded.  He  had  already  lived  ten  days  or  more 
since  he  was  shot.  A  chaplain  came  to  talk  and 
pray  with  him,  and  I  was  invited  to  remain.  He 
could  speak  our  language  as  well  as  his  own.  Taking 
his  hand,  the  chaplain  commences,  — 

"Are  you  aware  that  your  case  is  almost  a  hope- 
less one?" 

"O,  Chaplain,  I  understand  your  kindness  of 
heart  perfectly,  and  that  you  wish  to  announce  the 
certainty  of  approaching  death  as  tenderly  as  pos- 
sible. But  I  know  that  I  must  die,  and  shortly." 


86  I&  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 

"  Do  you  feel  that  you  are  prepared  to  die  ?  " 
"I  hardly  know  how  to  answer  that  question.  I 
never  felt  that  I  was  prepared  to  live  as  I  have 
wished.  My  ideal  of  what  I  might  be  has  always 
been  so  much  higher  than  I  have  ever  been  able  to 
attain,  I  cannot  feel  that  I  was  even  properly  pre- 
pared to  live.  When  I  have  thought  for  a  season 
that  I  was  gaining  strength,  and  rising  higher  and 
approaching  nearer  and  nearer  to  my  ideal,  suddenly 
some  passion  has  overcome  me,  and  I  have  lost  all 
I  had  gained." 

"But  you  did  not  put  your  trust  in  the  Saviour. 
They  who  rely  upon  themselves  lean  upon  a  reed, 
or  a  broken  staff;  while  they  who  lean  upon  Christ, 
n'nd  Him  an  ever-present  help  in  time  of  trouble. 
Look  unto  the  Saviour !  Look  unto  the  Saviour ! 
At  this  moment,  the  most  awfully  solemn  of  your 
life,  look  unto  Him  who  is  able  to  save  to  the  utter- 
most." 

"  Chaplain,  I  would  not  pain  so  good  a  heart  as 
yours.  But  I,  who  have  lived  sincere  all  my  life, 
cannot  dissemble  now,  while  on  the  threshold  oY 
eternity.  Will  you  hear  me  a  few  moments?  In 
return  I  will  be  glad  to  hear  all  you  may  have  to 
Kay." 

"Most  assuredly.  Go  on,  if  it  does  not  pain  }ou 
to  talk." 


IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL.  87 

"  Chaplain,  I  have  no  fear  to  die  more  than  to  sleep. 
It  is  not  because  I  feel  that  I  have  experienced  the 
new  birth,  or  that  God,  through  Christ,  has  forgiven 
my  sins.  I  have  had  my  seasons  of  religious  ectasy. 
I  have  desired  wings,  with  which  I  might  fly  away 
from  this  earth,  where  right  living  is  so  difficult,  and 
where  there  always  seems  to  be  a  leaden  burden  to 
keep  us  from  mounting  heavenward  to  find  for  com- 
panions a  purer  race  of  beings.  I  have  always  had 
my  seasons  of  prayer.  Often  they  have  been  sweet, 
and  sometimes  ecstatic,  while  at  others  they  have 
been  productive  of  no  visible  good.  But  it  is  not 
because  I  have  not  neglected  prayer  that  I  am  not 
afraid  to  die.  Awake  or  asleep,  in  sickness  or  in 
health,  far  away  from,  or  near  to,  death,  I  am  ever 
in  the  hands  of  a  just  God,  who  can  never  forget 
I  am  His  child." 

"  But  you  must  be  God's  child  by  adoption,  or  he 
will  not  own  you  when  he  shall  make  up  his  jewels." 

" Chaplain,  I  cannot  argue  now.  I  can  only  tell 
you  how  I  feel.  A  thousand  creeds,  explained  by 
a  thousand  men,  could  never  shake  my  faith  that  I  am 
a  child  of  God ;  I  learned  it  with  my  first  prayer,  I 
feel  it  now  as  I  never  felt  it  before,  and  that  I  am 
hastening  still  nearer  to  Him  than  I  ever  yet  have 
been." 

('  And  are  you  willing  to  die  ?  " 


88  IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 

"Could  I  have  my  choice,  I  would  prefer  to  live  ; 
but  that  being  impossible,  I  am  going  hence,  grateful 
that  I  ever  lived  at  all  in  this  beautiful  world ;  grate- 
ful that  I  have  lived  so  long ;  grateful  that  I  have 
enjoyed  so  much ;  and  grateful  that  I  can  leave  all 
with  resignation." 

"  Why,  brother,  you  talk  strangely.  I  cannot  com- 
prehend you.  While  your  words  proclaim  the  Deist, 
your  patience  and  resignation,  no  less  than  your 
sweet  spirit,  give  evidence  of  the  Christian." 

"Some  of  my  friends  have  told  me  that  I  have  not 
had  the  common  share  of  blessings  ;  that  I  have  al- 
ways been  hedged  in;  and  for  years  have  been 
obliged  to  labor  in  spheres  below  my  capacity  and 
taste. 

"  This  is  partly  true ;  but,  chaplain,  you  and  I  know 
what  there  is  to  be  grateful  for,  if  we  are  sometimes 
pinched,  crossed,  and  crippled. 

"There  are  the  sunshine  and  the  beautiful  orbs 
of  night ;  the  dew  and  rain ;  the  frost  and  snow ;  the 
flowers,  the  young  grass,  and  the  fragrant  hay ; 
the  forest,  with  its  many  hues ;  the  mountains,  the 
running  streams,  and  the  mighty  ocean ;  delicious 
odors,  enrapturing  music,  the  delights  of  social  in- 
tercourse, the  exhilaration  of  acquiring  knowledge, 
the  sweets  of  friendship  and  the  bliss  of  love  ;  and, 
better  than  all,  that  instinct,  which,  in  the  bird,  tells 


IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL.  89 

when  and  whither  to  fly,  spring  and  autumn,  in  the 
young  lamb  where  to  find  its  food,  and  in  us  of  a 
watchful  Deity  and  an  hereafter. 

"  Chaplain,  you  have  come  to  pray,  and  I  am  grate- 
ful, and  love  you  for  it.  Do  not  think  me  a  heathen 
or  an  infidel.  I  have  followed  all  the  light  I  have 
had.  Let  me  hold  your  hands  while  you  pray,  and 
I  will  pray  with  you ;  but  let  your  prayer  be  one  of 
thanksgiving  as  well  as  of  entreaty." 

Such,  in  substance,  was  this  strange  conversation. 
I  paid  less  attention  to  the  words  of  the  chaplain, 
than  to  those  of  the  dying  man. 

No  doubt  I  have  failed  to  make  a  strictly  accurate 
report,  but  the  substance  is  preserved. 


CHAPTER    V. 

TWO  NIGHTS   UNDER  GUAED. 

AFTER  the  battle  of  Antietam,  the  bulk  of  the  Army 
of  the  Potomac  was  encamped  at  and  near  Harper's 
Ferry.  A  view  from  the  top  of  Maryland  Heights, 
in  a  clear,  calm,  September  morning  of  1862,  was 
most  striking  and  picturesque.  The  mountain  seems 
upwards  of  a  mile  in  perpendicular  height,  and  the 
top  is  reached  by  very  sharp  grades.  There  is  a 
road  half-way  to  the  top,  over  which  the  heavy  guns 
were  dragged  by  mule  and  hand-power.  Where  the 
road  ends,  there  is  a  sort  of  plateau  of  thirty  to  fifty 
acres,  affording  good  camping-ground  for  troops. 
There  were  not  only  large  guns,  but  quite  a  body  of 
troops  there,  both  infantry  and  artillery.  The  top 
of  the  mountain  was  used  as  a  signal  station,  and 
every  day,  in  suitable  weather,  the  signal-man,  with 
his  flag,  might  be  seen  from  a  distance  of  many 
miles,  communicating,  by  his  waving  to  the  right 
and  waving  to  the  left,  to  those  who  understood  the 
(90) 


IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL.  9! 

signal-alphabet,  the    orders  of  the  Commander-in- 
Chief. 

Looking  southward  and  eastward,  we  take  in  an 
immense  landscape ;  but  the  part  that  interests  us 
most  is  Pleasant  Valley,  for  it  seems  covered  with 
troops.  There  must  be  nearly  twenty  regiments; 
and  as  the  larger  part  of  them  have  never  been  in 
action,  most  of  them  are  nearly  full.  There  is  a 
brigade  fresh  from  Connecticut,  and  as  fine-appearing 
one  as  there  is  in  the  field.  Nearby  is  another,  of 
mostly  New  Hampshire  troops.  Turning  to  the 
southwest  we  behold  Loudon  Heights,  at  least  a 
thousand  feet  below  the  rock  we  are  standing  on. 
There  are  troops  on  the  very  top,  but  the  ground 
they  occupy  is  so  uneven,  we  cannot  tell  whether  few 
or  many.  By  the  aid  of  our  glass  we  can  see  a  can- 
non, a  six-pouud  Napoleon,  on  one  of  the  highest 
peaks.  By  looking  carefully  at  two  flags,  floating 
over  the  cheerless  rocks,  we  can  make  out  the  5th 
and  the  7th  Ohio.  That  mountain,  as  well  as  the 
one  we  occupy,  is  a  point  of  great  importance. 
With  a  few  troops  and  cannon  in  that  position,  no 
opposing  force  can  hold  Harper's  Ferry.  Between 
us  and  those  Heights  is  the  silver  Potomac,  and  at 
the  northern  base,  the  Shenandoah.  Across  this  is 
a  pontoon  bridge  ;  and  then  passing  over  the  village, 
we  gaze  on  the  white  tents  and  black  mass  of  hu- 


92  IN    CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 

manity  that  cover  Bolivar  Heights.  These  are  the 
men  who  fought  the  fearful  battle  of  Autietam.  The 
wounded  are  mostly  in  Frederick  City;  though 
most  of  the  houses,  for  a  long  distance  about  the 
battle-field,  are  filled  with  them. 

The  regiments  seem  small.  We  can  see  even  at 
this  distance,  that  some  of  them  are  not  half  full. 
Though  many  are  absent,  the  hill  seems  covered. 
More  than  a  thousand  square  acres  are  dotted  with 
tents  about  as  close  as  they  can  stand.  These  troops 
are  under  command  of  General  Sumner,  but  whither 
bound  no  one  knows.  If  Lee  was  badly  whipped,  this 
army  does  not  feel  very  proud  of  its  victory.  It  is 
waiting  to  recuperate,  receive  shoes,  and  winter 
clothing,  and  probably  a  new  Commander-in-Chief. 

Turning  our  glass  back  to  Pleasant  Valley,  we  see 
a  horseman  galloping  slowly  along  from  the  Ferry, 
with  an  attendant  ten  rods  in  the  rear.  His  steed  is 
large  and  dark ;  so  is  the  rider.  Not  graceful  in 
posture,  or  handsome  of  figure ;  his  clothes  are 
somewhat  soiled,  from  the  cloud  of  dust  that  is  rising 
as  the  trains  of  wagons  pass  to  and  fro.  His  hat  is 
of  large  crown,  wide  brim,  and  bears  a  long  black 
plume.  Can  we  satisfy  ourselves  who  this  is  ?  Ah  ! 
now  he  removes  his  hat  to  cool  his  forehead.  That 
is  Ambrose  Buruside,  who  commands  the  forces  in 
the  valley  ;  and  he  is  a  noble  man  :  minds  his  busi- 


IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 


93 


ness,  docs    his  duty,    is  loved    by    his   men,    and 
honored  by  his  countrymen. 

I  had  spent  a  day  with  the  signal-men,  and  started, 
just  before  sundown,  for  the  Ferry,  but  had  not  got 
off  the  mountain  when  I  came  upon  a  picket-guard, 
who  refused  to  let  me  pass.  They  belonged  to  some 
new  regiment.  Their  orders  were  to  let  no  one  by 
after  dark,  even  if  he  had  a  pass,  without  the  coun- 
tersign. This  was  the  first  time  I  had  ever  been 
asked  for  it  till  after  eight  o'clock.  Not  having  it, 
there  was  nothing  to  do  but  put  up  at  their  hotel. 
As  landlords,  they  were  polite,  affable,  generous. 
They  gave  as  good  a  supper  as  they  had  themselves, 
and,  in  fact,  opened  a  can  of  chicken  which  they  had 
brought  from  the  sutlers  for  a  midnight  lunch.  They 
were  from  Livingston  County,  New  York, — farmers' 
boys,  intent  on  doing  their  duty,  whether  on  picket 
or  in  battle ;  but  being  under  the  necessity  of  de- 
taining me  for  the  night,  they  determined  to  make  it 
as  pleasant  as  possible.  Supper  over,  a  bed  was 
soon  made  by  cutting  some  boughs  near  by,  and 
there  was  nothing  to  do  but  to  kill  time,  and  watch  the 
path.  Had  there  been  a  candle,  or  could  we  have 
had  a  fire,  some  of  the  number  might  have  tried  the 
soldier's  solace,  —  a  game  of  "old  sledge."  Scarcely 
was  my  bed  ready,  when  another  man  made  his  ap- 
pearance. He  too  had  a  pass,  but  was  without  the 


94 


IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 


countersign.  He  was  an  artist  from  Massachusetts, 
and  had  been  up  reconnoitering  the  mountain  pre- 
paratory to  taking  some  views.  He,  also,  was 
treated  to  supper,  and  invited  to  sleep  in  my  wide 
bed,  and  we  found  him  a  great  addition  to  our  com- 
pany. Having  been,  in  former  years,  a  clergyman, 
and  having  travelled  extensively,  possessing  a  most 
wonderful  memory,  from  which  it  would  seem  noth- 
ing ever  escaped,  with  a  talent  for  story-telling  so 
extraordinary  that  whatever  he  spoke  of  the  hearer 
could  see  it  almost  as  plainly  as  if  he  had  been  an 
eye-witness,  he  kept  us  so  much  interested,  that 
there  was  not  a  sleeper  in  the  squad  for  the  whole 
night.  He  could  imitate  an  Irishman,  a  Dutchman, 
or  a  Yankee,  or,  in  fact,  anybody,  to  perfection. 

I  have  tried  to  put  some  of  his  stories  on  paper, 
but  fail  to  reproduce  them  with  the  spirit  they  had 
when  dropping  from  his  lips.  I  cannot  magnetize 
the  reader  as  he  did  the  hearer;  but  I  will  venture 
to  relate,  as  well  as  memory  will  permit,  a  few  of  his 
entertaining  narratives.  Said  he  :  — 

"  I  have  just  come  from  Frederick  City ;  was  there 
a  week,  while  my  man  took  care  of  the  business 
over  on  the  Heights  yonder.  It  is  a  dismal  place 
just  now.  There  are,  at  least,  twenty  hospitals,  all 
filled  with  the  wounded  from  Autietam.  If  any  one 
is  ever  tempted  to  commit  suicide,  I  wish  he  might 


CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 


95 


be  compelled  to  visit  one  of  these  places,  and  remain 
half  a  day.  It  would  cure  him  temporarily,  at  least, 
of  his  mania.  I  witnessed  some  of  the  most  inter- 
esting incidents  there  that  ever  fell  within  my  expe- 
rience. As  I  went  to  the  ticket-office  in  Baltimore, 
for  a  ticket  to  Frederick,  a  woman,  some  fifty  years 
old,  was  just  asking  for  one  also.  She  passed  out 
a  fifty-dollar  note,  which  was  pronounced  counterfeit. 

"fO,  in  Mercy's  name,  what  am  I  to  do?  I  care 
little  for  the  money,  but  have  a  dying  boy  in  Freder- 
ick City,  and  must  go  in  the  next  train.  Who  will 
befriend  me?  If  any  one  will  lend  me  a  little 
money,  it  will  be  paid  fourfold,  for  I  am  not  poor.' 

"'I  will  do  it;'  but  the  agent  was  too  quick  for 
me.  He  had  passed  her,  not  only  a  ticket,  but  ten 
dollars  in  money,  simply  telling  her  that  she  could 
return  the  loan,  if  she  chose,  at  her  convenience,  but 
that  the  ticket  was  a  present. 

"As  I  had  offered  her  money,  she  thanked  me 
with  more  gratitude  than  grace,  inquiring  if  I  were 
going  to  Frederick.  We  passed  on  together,  and, 
before  sundown,  were  with  her  son.  Before  we 
reached  the  hospital  where  he  lay,  the  city  was 
thrown  into  the  wildest  excitement  by  the  rapid  fir- 
ing of  half  a  dozen  cannon  on  the  outskirts.  Men 
turned  pale,  women  screamed,  children  fled  to  their 
mothers  for  protection,  farmers  leaped  into  their 


96  IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 

wagons,  or  astride  their  horses,  to  escape  :  the  cry 
rang  through  the  streets  that  the  rebels  were  upon  us, 
and  for  a  few  moments  there  was  a  panic  among  all, 
and  great  terror  among  the  wounded,  as  there  were 
but  few  troops  present  to  protect  them.  However, 
it  was  but  momentary.  Instead  of  the  rebels,  Mr. 
Lincoln  and  General  McClernand  had  called  on  their 
way  from  Antietam,  and  a  battery  was  giving  them 
a  welcome.  Though  the  city  has  as  many  rebels  as 
Unionists,  it  took  but  a  short  time  to  gather  a  crowd, 
to  whom  Mr.  Lincoln  made  a  brief  speech.  I  said 
we  found  the  boy  in  the  hospital.  The  despatch  sent 
to  the  mother  did  not  exaggerate  when  it  informed 
her  that  her  boy  was  dying.  She  saw  at  the  first 
glance  there  was  no  ground  for  hope.  Her  son  had 
known  it  for  two  days.  He  could  speak  only  in  a 
whisper.  Almost  his  only  words  were,  *Now  you 
have  come  I  am  willing  to  die.'  She  uttered  no  wail ; 
her  grief  found  no  expression  in  tears.  Holding  one 
of  his  hands,  she  knelt  down  by  his  cot  and  prayed, 
using  such  language  as  none  but  they  who  go  often 
and  happily  to  the  mercy-seat  can  use.  She  seemed 
to  see  her  Heavenly  Father,  and  to  feel  His  presence, 
making  me  think  of  a  mother  who  had  come  with  her 
child  to  a  stream,  passed  it  into  the  hands  of  one  who 
could  carry  it  over  in  safety,  while  she  was  to  wait 
but  a  short  time  for  her  turn.  Her  boy  died  without 


IN  CAMP  AND    HOSPITAL. 


97 


a  struggle,  while  she  was  in  prayer.  She  was  the 
first  to  make  the  discovery,  simply  saying,  'He  is 
gone.'  Then  the  tears  came,  and  her  mother's  heart 
seemed  ready  to  break.  But,  in  a  brief  time,  her 
emotion  was  controlled,  and  she  said  :  — 

'"  I  cannot  help  these  tears,  they  give  relief.  But 
why  should  J  be  inconsolable?  Death  is  not  the 
greatest  of  afflictions.  That  countenance  has  not  a 
mark  of  vice.  Those  ashen  lips  never  uttered  guile. 
Those  eyes  just  closed  never  turned  away  when  he 
was  addressing  me.  They  were  two  witnesses  to 
confirm  his  words.  He  never  cringed  to  wealth  ex- 
position, or  slighted  the  lowly.  Some  of  his  ac- 
quaintances thought  him  eccentric,  and  some  that  he 
lacked  reverence  for.  superiors ;  but  there  is  not,  in 
all  our  town,  an  humble  man  or  woman  but  will 
mourn  for  him  as  for  a  brother.  The  children  would 
run  to  meet  him,  striving  for  the  privilege  of  his 
hand.  All  this  is  a  great  comfort  to  me.  He  is 
safely  across  the  river.  Much  as  I  loved  him,  I  w6uld 
not  have  him  return.  What  is  my  sorrow  to  that  of 
a  mother  who  sees  her  boy  go  down  to  vice  and 
crime?  Though,  like  David,  I  can  say,  "Would  to 
God  I  had  died  for  thee  ;"  yet,  I  pray  that  when  my 
time  shall  come,  my  end  may  be  like  his.' 

"The  following  morning  the  body  was  in  readiness 
to  be  sent  home.  While  she  was  waiting  in  the 


98  IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 

street  for  the  express  to  make  some  little  alteratior. 
in  the  manner  of  transportation,  a  wounded  man,  in 
a  chamber  overlooking  the  small  assembly,  beckoned 
to  me  from  the  window,  saying  that  he  wished  to 
speak  with  me.  Telling  the  sentinel  there  was  a 
friend  of  mine  in  the  room  above,  I  skipped  up  the 
stab's  to  learn  his  wishes. 

"'Who  is  that  woman  waiting  to  accompany  that 
body?' 

"'I  do  not  know  her  name,  but  she  is  from  Scho- 
harie  County,  New  York.' 

"'I  am  sure  she  is  my  sister.  "Will  you  ask  her 
maiden  name,  and  if  she  has  not  a  brother  she  has 
not  seen  for  thirty  years?' 

"'With  pleasure.' 

"In  a  few  moments  that  woman  was  in  the  room 
with  her  brother,  who  had  deserted  his  home  many 
years  ago,  because  his  father  had  threatened  to  dis- 
inherit him  for  marrying  an  orphan  servant-girl,  the 
daughter  of  some  most  excellent  American  neighbors 
not  long  deceased.  He  went  to  Texas,  accumulated 
property,  but  was  obliged  to  enter  the  rebel  service, 
and,  though  a  Quartermaster,  was  hit  by  a  stray 
ball  at  Antietam,  found  after  the  rebels  had  re- 
treated, and  brought  to  Frederick  with  other  wounded 
men.  His  arm  was  amputated  ;  and  the  first  time  of 
leaving  his  cot  to  look  into  the  street,  he  saw  his  sis- 


IN   CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL.  99 

ter,  whom  he  left  thirty  years  ago  in  the  old  home- 
stead. The  interview  was  most  solemn  and  interest- 
ing. But  for  that  body  in  the  coffin  under  the 
window,  that  meeting  would  have  been  one  of  wild- 
est joy.  As  it  was,  few  words  were  spoken.  No 
life  histories  were  related.  She  held  his  only  hand 
till  the 'express  was  ready  for  the  train,  gave  him  a 
parting  kiss,  told  him  she  had  a  home  to  whose  com- 
forts he  should  be  welcome  through  life,  and  passed 
on  to  the  cars,  accompanied  only  by  the  chaplain, 
who  had  been  very  kind  to  her.  She  requested  this 
good  man  not  to  tell  the  conductor,  or  any  one  else, 
about  her  sorrowful  mission.  She  made  this  request 
that  she  might  be  free  from  the  gaze  of  sympathetic 
strangers  ;  saying,  that  while  many  persons  seemed 
to  enjoy  displaying  their  sorrows  to  the  multitude, 
she  .wished  to  mourn  alone,  until  she  reached  the 
home  circle,  where  every  tear  and  sigh  would  be  as 
sincere  as  her  own. 

"  Perhaps  you  might  be  interested  in  an  incident  of 
a  different  character  which  I  witnessed  one  Sunday,  a 
few  miles  out  of  the  city.  .The  day  was  so  charming 
that  I  wandered  off  five  or  six  miles,  and  fortunately 
came  to  a  little  country  church.  It  was  evident 
that  something  uncommon  had  drawn  the  people  to- 
gether, for  nearly  the  whole  population,  black  and 
white,  were  out.  The  sermon  told  me  the  cause  of 


I00  IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 

so  large  an  assembly:  it  was  the  beginning  of  a 
revival,  and  the  first  convert  was  to  receive  the  sol- 
emn rite  of  baptism  that  day. 

"The  preacher  was  a  mere  youth,  perhaps  a  little 
past  twenty.  This  was  the  first  year  of  his  ministry  ; 
and  the  one  to  go  forward  in  baptism,  his  first  sheaf 
in  the  field  of  his  Master.  He  was  modest,  tingle- 
minded,  but  earnest  and  eloquent;  with  the  most 
pertinent  passages  of  Scripture  at  perfect  com- 
mand. 

"His  convert  was  a  tall,  white-haired,  venerable 
man  of  sixty  years,  with  a  sweet  smile  that  pro- 
claimed that  beautiful  August  day  as  one  of  the 
happiest  of  his  long  life. 

"The  water-side  was  reached,  five  hundred  per&ons 
stood  on  either  bank ;  the  prayer  was  offered,  the 
hymn  sung.  The  old  man  gave  his  left  hand  into 
the  minister's  left,  while  the  youthful  servant  of  God 
threw  his  right  arm  lovingly  about  the  venerable 
man's  waist,  and  they  moved  forward  solemnly  and 
slowly,  with  downcast  eyes,  to  the  water.  Not  a 
breath  stirred  the  leaves  over  the  placid  stream. 
Even  the  birds  had  ceased  their  songs,  and  seemed 
to  be  interested  witnesses  of  the  solemn  scene.  The 
children,  that  had  been  chasing  butterflies  and  grass 
hoppers,  stopped  to  see  that  youth  lead  the  old  man 


IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL.  IQI 

down  to  the  water.     The  singers  were  gathered  in  a 
group,  with  open  books,  to  strike, — 

'O,  how  happy  are  they, 
Who  their  Saviour  obey  !' 

as  the  two  came   from  the   water,  when  all  were 
startled  by  the  loud,  shrill  cry  of  the  old  wife, — 

" '  Mr.  Tarbox,  Mr.  Tarbox,  take  off  them  new 
shoes.  You'll  spile  your  new  shoes  ! '  Men,  women, 
and  children,  broke  out  into  uncontrollable  laughter; 
the  poor  minister  was  so  disconcerted  he  forgot  the 
words  of  the  service,  but  the  old  man  heeded  her  not, 
and  as  he  came  up  from  the  water  struck  up,  in  a 
rich,  trembling  voice, — 

'Rock  of  ages,  cleft  for  me, 
Let  me  hide  myself  in  thee ; 
Let  the  water  and  the  blood, 
From  thy  riven  side  that  flowed, 
Be  of  sin  the  double  cure  — 
Cleanse  me  from  its  guilt  and  power.' 

"The  minister  was  reassured,  the  multitude  lost 
their  levity,  and  sang  with  a  power  they  had  never 
known  before ;  and  ere  they  left  the  bank,  a  season  of 
refreshing  such  as  they  had  never  before  experienced 
was  vouchsafed,  and  I  heard  that  on  the  next  Sabbath, 
instead  of  one,  the  young  minister  baptized  twelve, 
who  had  found  rest  and  peace. 


102  /JV  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL; 

"  Are  you  in  the  picture  business  over  on  Bolivar 
Heights?" 

"I  am." 

w  What  do  you  charge  for  a  good  photograph  ?  " 

" Eight  dollars." 

"Is  not  that  high?" 

"Well,  that  depends  upon  where  you  are.  At 
home,  I  can  afford  a  good  one  for  three  dollars  ;  but 
here,  circumstances  are  different.  I  know  a  town  in 
Massachusetts  where  a  denominational  school  has  just 
been  established ;  and,  though  it  was  a  thriving  place 
before,  as  soon  as  it  was  settled  that  the  school  was 
to  be  established  there,  real  estate  went  up,  as  it  were 
with  a  bound,  from  twenty  to  a  hundred  per  cent. 
A  citizen  had  a  horse  to  sell,  and  met  with  a  cus- 
tomer, who  inquired  the  price  : 

"'Two  hundred  dollars!'" 

"'  Why,  man,  you  amaze  me  !  I  cannot  see  a  dol- 
lar more  than  one.  hundred  in  the  beast.'  " 

" '  But  you  must  remember,'  continued  the  dealer, 
'where  you  are.  Outside  of  this  town,  a  hundred 
dollars  is  a  fair  price ;  but  here  I  must  have  two  hun- 
dred, to  bring  my  horse  on  a  par  with  everything 
else.' " 

Our  squad  consisted  of  the  artist,  a  sergeant,  two 
privates,  and  myself.  One  of  the  latter  said  nothing, 
but  each  of  the  others  contributed  his  share  to  the 


IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 


103 


entertainment  for  the  night.  The  other  private  was 
a  character,  and  had  a  hobby  which  he  was  willing 
to  trot  out  whenever  he  could  find  any  one  to  exam- 
ine it.  Taking  advantage  of  a  lull  in  the  talking,  he 
commenced:  — 

"Mr.  Artist,  do  you  understand  astronomy?" 

"Only  to  a  limited  extent." 

"  Well,  you  understand  that  some  of  the  fixed 
stars  have  disappeared?" 

"Certainly." 

"And  that  they  seemed  to  burn  with  great  bril- 
liancy for  a  long  time,  and  then  disappeared,  as 
though  they  were  literally  consumed?" 

"Yes." 

"What  do  you  think  about  the  sun?  Is  it  a. mass 
of  hydrogen  gas  ?" 

"I  never  tested  it." 

"Do  you  not  think  that  this  earth  is  liable  to  be 
destroyed  at  any  moment?" 

"Possibly.  But  the  Amazon,  and  the  Missis- 
sippi, the  Nile,  the  Oronoco,  and  the  St.  Lawrence, 
the  five  immense  oceans,  to  say  nothing  of  the  in- 
numerable lakes,  and  other  rivers,  would  smother  a 
pretty  big  fire." 

"Do  not  the  Scriptures  teach  this  theory?" 

"Theologians  give  different  answers  to  this  ques- 
tion." 


io4  IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPI^L. 

"'But  the  day  of  the  Lord  will  come  as  a  thief  in 
the  night,  in  the  which  the  heavens  shall  pass  away 
with  a  great  noise,  and  the  elements  shall  melt  with 
fervent  heat.'— IE.  Peter,  iii.  10.  'And  all  the  host 
of  heaven  shall  be  dissolved,  and  the  heavens  shall 
be  rolled  together  as  a  scroll.' — Isa.  xxxiv.  4.  'And 
the  heaven  departed  as  a  scroll  when  it  is  rolled  to- 
gether.'— Rev.  vi.  14.  'And  1  will  show  wonders 
in  the  heavens  and  in  the  earth,  blood  and  fire,  and 
pillars  of  smoke.'" 

"Do  you  understand  Geology?" 

"Not  enough  to  do  me  any  good." 

"Well,  sir,  a  little  reflection  will  teach  you  that 
we  are  living  in  the  last  centuries,  if  not  the  last 
days.  Did  you  ever  think  that  the  wood  and  coal 
of  the  world  are  being  rapidly  exhausted?" 

"They  will  probably  last  as  long  as  ice  shall  need 
any." 

"That  is  evasive,  if  not  irreverent.  The  forests 
are  disappearing,  the  coal-fields  are  surely  not  inex- 
haustible, and,  at  some  time,  the  world  will  run 
short  of  fuel." 

"There  will  be  at  least  three  resources  when 
wood  and  coal  fail :  one  is  to  burn  water.  Paine, 
of  Worcester,  Massachusetts,  got  all  ready,  twenty- 
five  years  ago,  to  do  it.  The  only  difficulty  he  en- 
countered was  to  get  the  hang  of  kindling  it.  As 


IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL.  IO- 

soon  as  that  little  obstacle  is  overcome,  water  will 
burn  as  well  as  petroleum.  My  father  remembers 
the  time  when  the  idea  of  burning  black  rock,  as 
coal  was  then  called,  was  regarded  as  absurd  as  the 
proposition  to  burn  granite  would  be  now.  When 
the  coal  gives  out,  we  shall  probably  be  able  to  burn 
granite.  But  if  neither  water  nor  granite  can  be 
made  to  furnish  fuel,  there  is  an  inexhaustible  supply 
always  to  be  obtained  with  sufficient  labor." 

"Where  is  it  to  come  from,  I  would  like  to  know?" 
,  "Why,  the  earth,  .all  but  a  thin  crust,  is  molten 
fire ;  and  tapping  it,  as  we  bore  an  oil-well,  is  all 
that  will  be  necessary  for  a  supply.  I  conjecture 
that  is  what  the  fire  inside  the  earth  is  kept  for. 
Would  not  we  like  to  live  to  see  the  first  hole 
drilled?  Would  it  not  cause  a  sensation  like  span- 
ning the  ocean  with  a  cable?" 

"Sir,  I  think  you  are  an  infidel;  aiid  you  did  a 
good  thing  when  you  left  the  ministry.  But  is  it  not 
awful  to  think  that  that  this  world  may  be  destroyed 
by  fire  at  any  moment?" 

"I  should  think  you  would  be  more  concerned 
about  the  balls  and  shells  you  have  got  -to  meet  in 
battle,  than  the  burning  of  the  world." 

"What  is  a  battle,  where  a  few  thousand  die,  to 
the  conflagration  of  a  world,  where  hundreds  of  mil- 
Iioiu3  v.'ould  perish?" 


106  IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 

wlt  would  be  all  the  same  to  you  in  both  cases. 
Death  would  be  no  more  terrible  or  painful  to  you, 
occurring  with  that  of  a  million  others,  than  alone." 

"  You  talk  like  an  unbeliever ;  and  I  do  not  care 
to  continue  the  conversation." 

Said  the  artist,  addressing  himself  to  the  Ser- 
geant: — 

"I  came  here  to  make  money;  I  suppose  you 
came  wholly  to  save  the  flag  from  dishonor." 

"Well,  my  friend,  I  may  as  well  tell  you  what 
motive  brought  me  here.  I  think  I  am  as  patriotic, 
as  most  men.  I  never  see  the  flag  run  up,  either  on 
a  ship's  mast  in  the  bay,  on  a  flagstaff  at  home,  or 
on  a  pole  that  we  plant  in  our  camp,  without  feeling 
my  heart  thumping  at  my  ribs,  and  the  tears  on  my 
cheeks.  When  I  see  it  carried  at  dress-parade  my 
chest  heaves,  and  I  have  a  strange  feeling,  while  my 
hands  grasp  my  musket  with  a  tighter  grip,  and  I 
am  ready  to  give  my  last  drop  of  blood  for  it.  Who 
can  tell  the  cause  of  this  emotion?  But,  friend,  it 
was  not  patriotism  alone  that  brought  me  here.  I 
came  partly  for  the  money, —  the  bounty.  Had  it 
been  patriotism  alone,  I  should  have  come  before. 
I  am  one  of  a  large  class  of  unfortunates,  who,  at 
twenty-five  years  of  age,  have  nothing  in  particular 
to  do.  Were  I  at  home,  seeking  for  employment, 
and  you  should  ask  me  what  I  could  do,  the  answer 


IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL.  IQ>J 

most  likely  would  be,  'Anything  you  want  done.' 
That  would  be  my  first  impression.  But,  really,  I 
can  do  nothing  well.  My  father  gave  me  neither  a 
trade  nor  an  education.  While  I  was  approaching 
manhood  he  had  a  little  petty  business,  at  which  I 
could  earn  him  two  dollars  a  day.  I  was  promised 
assistance  until  he  died.  I  am  unskilled  in  any- 
thing. The  blacksmith,  the  mason,  the  stone-cutter, 
the  shoemaker,  the  printer,  the  merchant,  all  want 
help ;  but  none  of  them  want  me,  —  a  man  in  years, 
but  a  child  in  knowledge.  I  came  here,  then,  largely 
because  I  had  nothing  to  do.  If  I  die,  who  will 
miss  me  ?  I  shall  leave  nothing  behind,  as  the  work 
of  my  hands.  Other  men  leave  something  to  per- 
petuate their  memories.  Every  house  is  a  monu- 
ment of  mechanical  skill.  The  proud  ship  coming 
into  port,  bears  the  labor  and  product  of  thousands 
of  skilled  hands,  to  say  nothing  of  those  who  pro- 
duced the  freight  she  brings.  He  who  has  taken  her 
across  the  trackless  deep,  and  found  the  port  as 
easily  as  the  school-boy  finds  his  home,  is  a  man  of 
skill,  and  his  services  are  wanted.  Yes,  and  so  it  is 
with  his  seamen.  Even  a  sailor,  though  he  be  a 
drunken  one,  and  the  shipping-master  obliged  to 
send  him  on  shipboard  in  irons,  is  wanted.  Yes 
sir,  a  drunken  sailor  is  of  more  account  to  the  world 
(han  I.  With  no  bad  habits,  and  a  disposition  to 


IOS  AV  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 

work,  110  one  wants  me.  If  I  live  to  go  home,  I  will 
tell  every  father  I  see  to  give  his  sou  an  education  or 
a  trade.  If  anything  will  make  a  young  man  hate  his 
father,  it  is  neglect  to  give  the  necessary  preparation 
to  compete  successfully  with  his  peers  in  the  business 
of  life.  As  well  might  a  boy  be  maimed  as  to  have 
a  hand  without  cunning,  or  .a  fool,  as  a  head  without 
useful  knowledge." 

As  daylight  was  breaking,  it  was  thought  that  a 
song  might  be  sung  without  breaking  any  rule,  when, 
it  being  my  turn,  I  gave  the  "Frog  Song,"  which 
had  more  in  the  introduction  than  in  the  body. 

In  July,  1861,  being  in  Washington;  I  heard  that 
the  rebels  were  massing  their 'troops  at  Mannassas, 
and  that  our  army  would  move  towards  that  strong- 
hold the  following  day.  If  the  soldiers  were  to  go, 
so  were  the  civilians,  as  to  a  country  muster,  or  a 
horse-show.  Somewhere  near  Fairfax  Court  House 
we  passed  a  big  frog-pond,  and  it  being  somewhat 
lowery,  the  frogs  were  out.  While  some  of  the 
troops  were  passing,  it  chanced  that  one  of  the 
largest  of  the  frogs  was  on  a  log,  and  he  seemed  to 
take  great  interest  in  the  procession.  The  band  was 
playing  an  air  he  had  never  heard  before,  the  ban- 
ners were  waving,  the  muskets  glistened,  and  the 
sabres  gleamed.  Tramp,  tramp,  tramp,  till  the 
ground  shook,  and  the  poor  frog's  "home  on  the  roil- 


/AT  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL.  lOg 

ing  deep  "  seemed  invaded  by  a  power  he  had  never 
feared.  He  had  seen  flocks  of  cranes,  and  boys  with 
stones,  and  knew  how  to  avoid  both  of  these  enemies  ; 
but  here  was  a  visible  power  that  shook  his  home 
like  invisible  thunder,  yet  he  bravely  kept  his  posi- 
tion. He  saw  the  officers  ride  by,  with  grace  and 
majesty  in  their  mien,  and  heard  their  orders  given 
with  pomp  and  sonorosity.  He  felt  like  doing  some- 
thing to  show  his  admiration  of  the  spectacle ;  but  as 
it  was  not  convenient  to  take  off  his  hat,  and  shout 
"hurrah!"  he  did  the  next  best  thing, — essayed  a 
song  ;  but  he  was  somewhat  puzzled  in  the  matter  of 
selection.  Not  knowing  whether  Abraham  Lincoln 
or  Jeff.  Davis  held  dominion  over  his  domain,  he  was 
at  a  loss  whether  to  strike  up  the  "Star  Spangled 
Banner,"  or  the  "Bonnie  Blue  Flag,"  but,  rejecting 
both,  as  it  was  uncertain  whose  hands  he  would  fall 
into,  he  filled  his  bellows,  and  opening  his  huge 
mouth,  articulated,  in  the  deepest  bass,  "  Big  thing! 
Big  tldng!  Big  thing!"  The  troops  heard  it,  and 
were  captivated.  Soon  the  song  reverberated  along 
the  lines.  We  went  to  Bull  Run,  met  the  rebels, 
were  defeated,  and  at  night  repassed  the  same  pond. 
The  big  frogs  had  retired,  and  the  peepers  had  taken 
their  places.  They  gazed  at  us  a  few  moments, 
soon  comprehended  the  situation,  and  then  stru-jk 
up  the  chorus  in  their  finest  key,  "  Can't  see  it!,  cart  I 


HO  IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 

see  it!"  The  army  took  the  hint.  They  could  not 
see  it  either. 

On  the  Saturday  evening  previous  to  Banks'  re- 
treat from  New  Market,  I  called  on  General  Wil- 
liams' Division,  encamped  a  mile  north  of  the  town, 
and  half  a  mile  below  the  pike.  There  was  a  brig- 
ade down  two  miles  to  the  left  of  the  town,  to  guard 
a  bridge,  while  the  bulk  of  this  army  was  six  or 
seven  miles  south  on  the  pike  to  Staunton.  Having 
disposed  of  most  of  my  stamps,  sung  with  all  the 
regiments  and  batteries,  and  had  one  of  my  pleasant- 
est  visits,  I  was  about  to  depart,  when  a  soldier,  with 
a  bayoneted  gun,  approached  and  said  that  the  Col- 
onel wished  to  speak  with  me  in  his  tent. 

"Give  my  compliments  to  the  Colonel,  and  say 
that,  as  it  is  late, — past  nine  o'clock, — I  will  thank 
him  to  excuse  me  to-night.  I  will  call  early  in  the 
morning." 

"You  are  a  prisoner,  sir,  by  order  ot  the  Colonel, 
who  suspects  you  are  a  spy." 

"Take  me  to  the  Colonel's  tent  at  once,  that  I  may 
show  my  credentials." 

But  no,  I  was  to  be  kept  under  guard  till  morning. 
He  had  ordered  my  arrest  outside  of  his  lines  with- 
out any  cause  whatever. 

"You  are  to  speak  to  no  one  but  me,  and  me  only 
when  necessary." 


IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL.  IIt 

This  was  not  the  language  of  the  soldier  who 
arrested  me,  but  of  some  subaltern,  perhaps  the  offi- 
cer of  the  guard. 

"Can  I  go  to  a  tent  to  sleep?" 

"No,  sir;  there  are  no  tents  up,  but  those  of  the 
field  officer's." 

"Can  I  have  some  blankets?" 

"You  ought  to  carry  your  blankets  with  you  when 
you  travel  with  the  army." 

"That  is  so,  no  doubt;  but,  as  I  am  not  a  snail, 
and  do  not  carry  my  house  on  my  back,  and  thinking 
I  was  coming  among  friends  instead  of  enemies,  I 
have  none." 

"Let  me  have  your  weapons." 

"I  do  not  carry  any." 

"What!  no  pistol?" 

"Not  any,  sir." 

"Any  knife?" 

"A  small  one  ;  here  it  is." 

"Any  papers?" 

"Here  is  my  pass,  also  two  letters  from  home ; 
you  are  welcome  to  them.  Here  is  a  package  of 
Union  songs,  and  in  this  tin  cylinder  you  will  find 
about  ten  dollars  worth  of  postage-stamps." 

"What  do  you  do  with  these  stamps?" 

"I  will  satisfy  your  curiosity  in  the   morning. 


112  IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 

Bring  me  a  blanket,  if  you  can  find  one,  and  I  will 
make  the  best  of  my  situation  till  morning." 

The  May  air  was  cold,  and  the  ground  damp. 
Sleeping  was  out  of  the  question.  There  were  nei- 
ther logs  nor  chips  to  sit  on.  About  two  o'clock  my 
keeper  was  replaced  by  another.  As  I  was  passed 
over  to  the  new  guard,  the  orders  to  hold  no  con- 
versation were  repeated.  We  sat  near  together, 
both  suffering  from  the  cool  night  air.  At  length  he 
inquired :  — 

"Have  you  a  little  whiskey  about  you?" 

"Not  a  drop." 

"Have  you  any  tobacco?" 

"Never  used  any.     Do  not  know  its  taste." 

"That  is  bad.  This  is  mighty  lonesome  for  both 
of  us,  isn't  it?" 

"  Suppose  I  tell  you  a  true  story,  to  wear  away  the 
time  ?  " 

I  will  not  trouble  the  reader  with  the  story.  It 
rehearsed  the  facts  of  wandering  out  into  a  Wisconsin 
forest  on  the  Mississippi  while  a  steamer  lay  at  the 
bank  nearly  a  whole  day  making  some  repairs  on  one 
of  the  engines  ;  and  being  left  alone  in  the  solitude  of 
the  forest  till  morning,  when,  by  the  sound  of  a  rifle, 
I  found  a  white  man  who  had  lived  a  hermit's  life  ton 
years,  scarcely  seeing  a  white  man,  except  the  em- 
ployes of  the  steamer  that  took  the  wood  hy  cut  an  1 


IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL.  03 

hauled  to  the  river  bank  on  a  hand-sled.  He  was 
there  because  his  wife  had  deceived  him.  I  will  give 
just  that  part  of  it  which  interested  my  guard  most. 
Speaking  of  his  life,  the  hermit  said  :  — 
"  I  suppose  you  conjecture  it  was  love  that  brought 
me  here.  No,  sir ;  it  was  the  want  of  love.  I  am 
a  married  man ;  but  am  ashamed  to  say  I  ever  loved 
so  fascinating,  treacherous,  and  subtle  a  being  as 
woman.  Bah  !  Beautiful !  so  was  Eve,  undoubt- 
edly. Fascinating!  so  was  the  serpent.  I  loved, 
wedded,  worshipped,  and  was  betrayed.  A  hard- 
working man,  and  true  as  the  needle  to  the  pole,  I 
was  supplanted  by  a  brainless  villain ;  but  here,  in 
my  forest  home,  I  am  free  from  the  society  of  those 
who,  since  the  days  of  Eve,  have  been  the  scourge 
of  men.  My  dog,  and  even  my  pet  bear,  are  supe- 
rior to  woman.  My  dog  would  die  for  me.  JSro 
lying  tongue  could  coax  him  to  desert  me.  I  would 
improve  on  Byron,  and  say,  instead  of  Frailty,  — 

fOh,  "Deceit,"  thy  name  is  woman.'" 

"Hold  on!"  said  my  keeper.  "That  is  a  pretty 
good  story,  and  I  rather  pity  the  old  wood-chopper, 
who  had  been  bamboozled  by  his  wife  ;  but,  stranger, 
there  is  as  sweet  a  pair  of  eyes,  and  as  pure  a  pair 
of  lips,  up  in  Wisconsin,  that  came  down  here  to  my 


1I4  IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 

hard  bed  every  night  to  gaze  upon  and  kiss  me  in 
my  dreams,  as  ever  existed  since  Mary  went,  first  of 
all  Christ's  followers,  to  the  sepulchre.  Fudge  on 
Byron,  old  Solomon,  the  hermit,  and  all  other 
woman-haters  !  I  have  not  seen  much  of  life.,  but  I 
have  found  it  true,  generally,  that  when  a  man  loves 
his  wife  and  children  as  he  ought,  there  is  not  much 
chance  for  trouble  from  outsiders.  For  my  part,  if 
I  do  not  get  killed  in  this  war,  the  sweetest  girl  in 
Wisconsin  will  have  a  soldier-boy  for  a  husband  who 
will  be  so  good  to  her  that  the  very  atmosphere  that 
will  surround  her,  should  any  libertine  dare  to  come 
into  her  presence,  will  banish  him  at  once." 

In  the  morning  I  was  taken  to  the  Colonel,  who 
proved  to  be  a  Norwegian,  in  command  of  the  3d 
Wisconsin ;  and,  without  a  kind  word  of  regret  for 
his  order,  he  bade  me  good-morning,  with  an  invita- 
tion to  call  again.  It  is  the  only  instance  of  bald 
incivility  from  an  officer  of  his  rank,  in  meeting  with 
upwards  of  five  hundred  regiments. 


116  We're  marching  down  to  Dixie's  land. 

E.  W.  Locke. 


=-L* iv-^-' ' 2 


%j  m     m  tftf  w 

Good  news,  good  news,  from  Dixie's  land  from  Dixie's  laud  ;  from  Dixie's  land 

[The 

The    re-bels  sing    a-nother  soiv.'.  In  Dixie's  ]:ind,  in  Dixie's  land  ;  They 
2.    Dupont  and  Sherman  took  n  sail.  To  Dixie's  laud,  to  Dixie's  land.  With 
They  called  to  see  Miss  Caroline,  In  Dixie's  land,  In  Dixie's  land,  Found 


re  -  bel   cause     Is     at        a     stand,  And  trea  -  son's  go  -  ing  down, 

find   they  pitched  the  first  one  wrong,  Aud  trea  -  sou's  go  -  ing  down, 

lit   -  tie  stores    of     1  -  ron   hail,    To  put     re  -  bel  -  lion  down. 

Beaufort      har-bor    migh-ty     flue,    To  put     re-bel-liou  dowu. 


We've  struck  the  poison  snake  a  blow.  In  Dixie's  land,  in  Dixie's  land,  Se- 
"With  shot  aud  shell,  aud  Yankee  trick,  In  Dixie's  laud,  in  Dixie's  laud,  They 


ces  -  sion  stock    is   run  -  ning  low,  Aud       trea  -  son's    go  -  ing  down, 
put     the  rogues   to   dou  -  ble  quick,  And       trea  -  sou    shall  go  down. 


CHORUS. 

*=££ 

irfcttEfcSi 


••   v   '$  v  » 

Oh  we're  marching  down  to  Dixie's  land,  to  Dixie's  land,  to  Dixie's  land, 

-P-f-  K\ 


-^r^^lu^=^-|^=b=g~D=d~^~/'v~g'F^-b--bTl: 


=333P3=t  irbfi— -* — 8 —  ^htf  i:u 


v  y 

And  our  flag  shall  wave  to  the  Bio  Grande,  And  treason     shall   go  down. 


117 

,     They  sent  two  Envoys  Plenipo 

From  Dixie's  land,  from  Dixie's  land, 
To  Johnny  Bull  and  John  Crapeau, 

Lest  treason  should  go  down ; 
They  rowed  about  from  shore  to  shore, 

In  Dixie's  land  in  Dixie's  land, 
Till  John  Bull  lent  a  helping  tfar, 

Lesfc  treason  should  go  down. 
A  gallant  plucky  Commodore, 

From  Yankee  land,  From  Yankee  land, 
Just  bagged  them  both,  though  John  Bull  swore} 

And,  treason  shall  go  down  ! 

Cho.     0  we're  marching,  &c. 


John  Bull  is  in  a  growling  mood, 

For  Dixie's  land,  for  Dixie's  land, 
He'd  help  the  rebels  if  he  could, 

Lest  treason  should  go  down, 
We've  whipped  him  twice,  if  he'll  call  again, 

On  sea  or  land,  on  sea  or  land, 
He'll  find  us  stocked  with  pluck  and  men, 

And  treason  shall  go  down  ; 
John  Bull  we'll  meet  as  friend  or  foe, 

On  sea  or  land,  on  sea  or  rand, 
We  love  his  smile,  we  dare  his  blow, 

But  treason  shall  go  down  ! 


Cho.     O  we're  mai-ching,  &c. 


5.     March 


irch  on,  march  on,  our  cause  is  just, 

To  Dixie's  land,  to  Dixie's  land. 
With  loyal  hearts  and  God  our  trust, 

To  put  rebellion  down ; 
The  blood  of  martyred  brothers  cries 

From  Dixie's  land,  from  Dixie's  land, 
Avenge,  avenge  our  sacrifice, 

And  put  rebellion  down. 
The  trumpet  sounds,  the  war-cry  rings, 

In  Dixie's  land,  In  Dixie's  land; 
Mid  clashing  steel  each  brave  heart  springs, 

To  put  rebellion  down. 

Cho.     O  we're  marching,  &c. 


CHAPTER    VI. 

THE   SEVEN  DAYS*  FIGHTING  BEFORE  RICHMOND. 

I  ASK  the  reader  not  to  skip  this  chapter  in  disgust. 
I  am   aware  there  is  a  wide  disagreement  in  state- 
ments of  facts  among  those  who  were  participants  in 
the  events  to  be  treated  of  in  the  next  pages ;  and 
most   of  the   politicians  of  the  country  profess  to 
know  more  about  McClellan's    manoeuvres  before 
Richmond,  and  his  retreat  to  the  James,  than  those 
who  were  under  this  distinguished  Commander  at  the 
time.     Were  I  at  a  loss  for  matter  here,  the  files  of 
the  leading  journals  of  the  country  would  furnish 
enough  for  many  chapters.     But  most  of  the  reports 
were  unfair;  they  were  written  either  to  glorify  or 
disparage  McClellan.     Some  of  them  were  by  men 
who  saw  no  part  of  the  affair  but  the  retreating  trains 
of  wagons  they  were  with.     There  were  reporters 
in  the  army  whose  chief  business  was  to  play  toady 
to  some  of  the  officers,  get  a  share  of  good  victuals 
and  a  plenty  of  liquor,  and  report  the  brilliant  ex- 
ploits  of  the  men  who  paid  their  bills.     Those  who 
(118) 


IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL.  119 

trumpeted  for  McClellau,  described  those  battles  as 
fiercely  contested,  sanguinary  in  character,  managed 
on  the  part  of  our  officers  with  consummate  skill,  and 
but  for  the  lack  of  a  few  expected  reinforcements 
under  McDowell,  victory,  which  at  one  time  was  al- 
mos,t  within  our  grasp,  would  have  been  secured, 
Kichmond  taken,  and  the  war  ended  in  one  brief  cam- 
paign. "Shame  on  the  imbecile  administration  for 
sacrificing  one  of  the  bravest  and  best  disciplined 
armies  ever  organized,  composed  of  the  flower  of 
America  !  Shame  on  the  government  that  could  sac- 
rifice a  hero  like  McClellan,  because  he  was  not  a 
Eepublican!"  This  was,  and  still  is,  theory  of  one 
party. 

The  other  party  feels  that  the  incompetency  of 
this  officer  cost  the  country  a  hundred  thousand  lives, 
and  yet  many  are  unwilling  to  use  harsh  terms,  for 
they  know  not  who  there  was  at  that  time  that  could 
have  done  better. 

I  am  to  give  my  version  of  the  aifair,  tell  what  I 
know  and  saw.  Being  on  the  field,  or  in  the  hos- 
pitals, the  entire  seven  days,  confined  to  no  locality 
or  sphere,  but  free  to  move  at  all  times  along  any 
part  of  our  lines,  my  opportunities  for  witnessing 
the  events  of  the  occasion  were  at  least  as  good  as 
those  of  others.  But  it  should  be  borne  in  mind 
that  whatever  the  facilities  enjoyed,  one  man, 


120  I&   CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 

though  he  might  have  had  the  swiftest  horse,  could 
not  see  nearly  all  the  important  transactions  of  that 
disastrous  occasion. 

Looking  back  eight  years,  I  can  see  that  line  of 
"boys  in  blue"  just  as  vividly  as  if  but  yesterday,  as 
it  stretched  out  north  and  south  from  the  railroad  a 
mile  above  Savage  Station,  like  a  pair  of  wings  ten 
miles  from  tip  to  tip. 

On  the  extreme  left  were  some  twenty  regiments 
of  infantry  and  a  few  batteries,  under  General  Keys  ; 
next  to  him  was  Sumner,  who  prided  himself  in  hav- 
ing the  best  fighting  material  in  all  that  army.  He 
might  well  be  proud  of  many  of  his  command,  both 
men  and  officers.  There  were  Meagher,  French, 
Kearney,  and  Hooker,  and  if  there  were  any  troops 
in  the  whole  line  that  McClellan  took  pains  to  flatter, 
it  was  the  Irish  Brigade.  It  was  indeed  a  noble 
corps,  both  officers  and  men  feeling  that  they  were 
representing  to  the  world  the  Irish  sentiment  in  crush- 
ing the  rebellion,  as  well  as  the  characteristics  of 
true  Irish  soldiers.  Though  some  of  their  enemies 
chai'ged  that  this  partiality  on  the  part  of  McClellan 
was  a  stroke  of  policy  to  encourage  enlistments  among 
that  race,  yet  any  one  who  saw  the  brigade  at  Games' 
Mill,  White  Oak  Swamp,  or  Malvern  Hills,  must 
feel  that  the  Irish  have  a  right  to  be  proud  of  their 
countrymen  on  those  occasions.  Next  to  Sumner 


IN  CAMP  AND    HOSPITAL.  I3I 

was  Heintzleman,  with  a  corps  nearly  or  quite  as  large 
as  any ;  next  Franklin,  with  the  famous  Vermont 
Brigade  of  five  regiments,  viz.  :  the  2d,  3d,  4th,  5th, 
and  6th ;  the  Jersey  Brigade,  formerly  Kearney's, 
the  1st,  2d,  3d,  and  4th ;  with  the  5th,  6th,  and  7th 
Maine,  which,  as  much  as  any  regiments  froin^the 
Pine  Tree  State,  distinguished  themselves  through  the 
war.  In  this  corps  there  were  also  the  16th,  27th, 
33d,  43d,  49th,  and  77th  New  York,  and  a  few 
Pennsylvania  troops.  In  the  rear  of  the  line  were 
the  headquarters  of  General  Franklin,  and  still  far- 
ther back,  those  of  McClellan,  protected  by  a  park 
of  artillery. 

Crossing  the  Chickahomiuy  we  found  no  troops  till 
we  had  passed  Games'  House,  a  mile  from  the  Swamp. 
Then  we  came  upon  Porter's  corps.  Among  others 
it  included  the  Berdaa^Sharpshooters,  the  Ellsworth 
Avengers,  the  5th  New  York  (Zouaves) ,  the  9th 
Massachusetts  (Irish),  the  4th  Michigan,  and  a  reg- 
iment from  Connecticut  that  had  charge  of  the  siege 
guns.  Then  there  was  some  distance  without  troops  ; 
but  whe*u  reached,  they  were  found  to  be  the  Pennsyl- 
vania Reserves,  consisting  of  twelve  regiments  of  in- 
fantry, and  three  batteries.  Stoneman,  with  his  cav- 
alry, was  in  this  vicinity,  but  constantly  moving,  so 
that  his  troops  were  seldom  seen  in  camp  but  at 
night. 


,32  IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 

Near  Games'  House  is  that  modern  invention  in 
warfare,  the  balloon.  Coming  upon  it  suddenly, 
hidden  in  a  little  ravine,  a  globe,  perhaps  fifteen  feet 
in  diameter,  attached  to  the  earth  by  strong  guys, 
and  its  beautiful  colors  sparkling  in  the  sun,  we 
could  but  exclaim,  "Big  thing!"  The  rebels  must 
be  beaten,  for  they  have  no  balloon ;  and  if  Bona- 
parte had  thought  of  this,  he  never  would  have  been 
sent  to  Elba.  There  was  a  wagon-load  of  carboys, 
filled  with  vitriol,  and  a  great  quantity  of  zinc,  from 
which  to  generate  the  required  gas.  When  the  air 
was  still  the  guys  were  manned,  a  man  with  a  glass 
stepped  into  the  basket,  and  strong  arms,  with  care- 
ful hands,  paid  out  the  ropes,  while  the  observer 
mounted  five  hundred  feet  skyward  to  see  what  the 
Johnnies  were  about  over  towards  Richmond. 

But  taking  such  an  observation  was  not  the  pleas- 
antest  recreation  to  be  thought  of.  If  the  balloon 
man  could  see  the  rebels,  they  could  see  him.  And 
by  the  time  he  had  reached  the  requisite  altitude,  a 
puff  of  smoke  rises  from  that  battery  over  on  the 
heights,  beyond  the  Chickahominy ;  the  heavy,  sharp 
crash  of  a  rifled  cannon  almost  stuns  us,  even  if  we 
are  a  mile  away,  and,  almost  simultaneously  with  (he 
sound  of  the  gun,  co;nes  the  screeching  shell,  aimed 
at  the  balloon.  You  know  this  only  by  the  sound ; 
for  the  eye  cannot  soe  it.  Again  and  again  they  fire, 


IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 


123 


but  they  must  be  poor  marksmen,  or  their  gun  is 
defective,  for  they  never  hit  it.  Sometimes  it  sways 
with  the  gentle  breeze,  but  at  others  it  as  motionless 
as  a  target.  My  verdict  was,  "Poor  gunnery ." 

Who  hatched  the  balloon  idea  may  not  be  known ; 
but  there  were  few  officers  who  did  not  think  it  ridic- 
ulous. In  a  few  hours  after  nightfall  the  enemy's 
troops  might  have  been  concentrated  to  strike  us  on 
either  wing  with  the  dawning  of  the  first  light,  and 
a  battle  be  lost  or  won  before  the  balloon  man  could 
see  what  was  going  on  inside  the  rebel  lines.  But 
that  ridiculous  gas-bag  did  not  live  long  in  the  army. 
Probably  no  one  will  take  out  a  patent  for  conduct- 
ing warfare  by  the  use  of  balloons. 

About  two  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  of  the  last 
Thursday  in  June,  L862,  the  pickets  of  the  Pennsyl- 
vania Reserves  were  driven  in  by  a  large  advancing 
column.  This  threatening  force  was  bravely  met  by 
three  batteries,  and  twelve  regiments  of  infantry. 
In  an  hour  or  two  the  firing  became  rapid,  and, 
though  the  Pennsylvanians  behaved  nobly,  they  had 
to  coj)e  with  such  odds  in  numbers,  they  gradually 
fell  back  obliquely  towards  Porter's  command.  This 
officer  was  ready  with  his  troops,  in  due  time,  to 
take  part  in  the  fight,  and  for  two  hours  before  sun- 
down, and  even  by  twilight,  nearly  the  whole  force 
on  that  side  of  the  Chickahominy  \vas  engaged. 


,24  IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 

About  half-past  two  iu  the  afternoon,  Generals 
McClellan  and  Franklin,  with  their  respective  staff- 
officers,  rode  over  to  the  scene  of  action,  a  distance 
of  about  three  miles.  Late  in  the  afternoon,  as  far 
as  I  could  see  or  ascertain,  the  whole  army  was 
drawn  up  in  line  of  battle,  as  if  expecting  attack  at 
any  moment. 

That  was  a  sight  never  to  be  forgotten.  Here  is  a 
regiment  of  six  hundred  strong  men,  standing  in  line, 
two  rank,  their  dress  blue  pants,  blouse  and  cap ; 
with  muskets  loaded  and  capped,  at "  order  arms,"  or 
"rest";  the  commissioned  officers  one  step  in  the 
rear,  with  drawn  swords ;  ten  rods  in  the  rear  another 
similar  line;  and  at  the  right  and  the  left  others, 
containing  from  five  to  eight  hundred  each.  At  suit- 
able points,  with  every  brigade  of  four  or  five  regi- 
ments, was  a  battery  of  six  guns  unlimbered,  the 
gunners  ready  to  shot  and  discharge  them  at  any 
moment ;  and,  just  far  enough  in  the  rear  to  over- 
look his  brigade,  sits,  on  his  trusty  horse,  the  Brig- 
adier, waiting  for  orders  from  the  Corps  Commander, 
either  to  advance  to  battle  or  return  to  quarters. 
There  are  continuous  lines,  stretching  for  miles,  of 
armed  men,  ready  to  fight  or  die. 

There  has  been  heavy  fighting  all  the  afternoon  on 
the  right :  the  cannons  are  yet  thundering,  and  the 
musketry  volleys  are  unceasing.  Is  this  the  hour 


IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 


I25 


that  is  to  decide  whether  America  is  to  be  one  or  two 
nations?  The  timid  are  pale  and  trembling,  the 
reckless  joking,  the  brave  impatient,  hoping  that  the 
hour  of  trial  has  at  length  come. 

"Attention  to  orders  ! "  Something  like  the  fol- 
lowing is  read  in  the  hearing  of  all :  "Headquarters 
of  Major-General  Fitz  John  Porter,  June  25th,  eight 
o'clock  P.  M.  To  the  officers  and  soldiers  of  the 
Army  of  the  Potomac !  This  afternoon,  at  two 
o'clock,  the  enemy  in  full  force  made  a  most  vigor- 
ous and  persistent  attack  on  our  right  wing ;  but,  by 
the  heroic  conduct  of  your  brave  brothers  under 
Major-Generals  McCall  and  Porter,  was  driven  back 
with  immense  slaughter,  while  our  loss  in  killed  and 
wounded  is  comparatively  small.  With  two  hours 
more  of  daylight  we  could  have  followed  the  enemy 
into  Richmond." 

This  message,  or  the  substance  of  it,  purported  to 
have  come  from  McClellau.  The  soldiers  cheered, 
and  cheered  again.  Many  went  to  sleep  that  night 
expecting  to  march  into  Richmond  the  following  day. 
Others  shook  their  heads,  and  especially  some  of  the 
officers.  They  had  listened  to  the  cannonading  (for 
there  was  scarcely  a  breath  of  air,  and  the  sound 
could  be  heard  distinctly  even  to  the  extreme  left) , 
and  all  the  afternoon  it  had  come  nearer  and  nearer, 
even  to  the  very  last.  If  the  enemy  had  been  checked. 


126  IN  GAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 

and  especially  towards  the  end  driven  back,  we 
should  have  known  it  by  the  reports  of  the  guns. 
But  it  was  not  so,  and  men  who  had  been  in  previous 
wars,  or  who  exercised  their  judgment,  knew  that  the 
boast  of  going  to  Richmond  with  two  hours'  more 
daylight,  was  idle,  like  a  great  deal  of  the  vaporing 
that  had  been  heard  before.  But  we  should  see ; 
perhaps  two  hours  in  the  morning  will  be  as  good  as 
two  hours  at  the  close  of  the  day.  Few  thoughtful 
men  of  that  grand  army  slept  much  that  night.  By 
five  o'clock  in  the  morning  the  firing  recommenced, 
apparently  just  where  it  ceased  the  night  before.  It 
continued,  though  with  but  little  vigor,  almost  ceas- 
ing at  times,  to  recommence  more  sharply,  till  nearly 
or  quite  noon.  By  two  o'clock  we  knew  that  the 
bloodiest  battle  of  the  war  in  the  East  was  being 
fought. 

General  Slocum's  Division,  of  Franklin's  corps,  had 
been  in  readiness  from  sunrise  to  march  at  a  moment's 
notice  to  the  field  of  action,  if  wanted ;  at  this  time 
they  were  ordered  forward,  being  some  three  miles 
from  the  battle-field,  to  assist  their  struggling  breth- 
ren. As  nearly  as  I  can  remember,  there  were  twelve 
regiments  and  three  batteries  in  this  body  of  rein- 
forcements ;  but,  later  in  the  day,  two  brigades, 
the  Irish  and  French's,  comprising  some  ten  regi- 
ments, also  went  to  the  assistance  of  McCall  and  For- 


IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 


127 


tcr.  When  Slocum's  troops  started,  they  moved 
slowly,  and  I  think  few  of  the  men  expected  to  go 
into  battle  ;  but  having  crossed  the  river,  their  pace 
quickened,  and  soon  they  found  there  was  work  to 
be  done,  such  as  they  had  never  experienced. 
McCall  and  Porter  had  been  virtually  defeated  before 
Slocurn  arrived.  A  victorious  enemy,  with  rein- 
forcements constantly  arriving,  were  killing,  maim- 
ing and  capturing  our  men  by  hundreds,  and  forcing 
back  the  right  wing  of  McClelland  army.  Only  till 
late  in  the  afternoon,  when  the  Irish  and  French's 
brigades  made  their  appearance,  was  the  enemy 
checked.  More  than  half  of  the  Jersey  Brigade 
were  killed  or  captured.  The  5th  Maine  lost  two 
hundred  and  fifty,  or  one-third  of  its  men.  Colonel 
Ilowland,  of  the  16th  New  York,  was  killed,  and 
Lieutenant-Colonel  Marsh,  of  the  same  regiment, 
mortally  wounded.  To  say  nothing  of  the  losses  suf- 
fered by  McCall  and  Porter,  of  the  six  thousand  men 
who  crossed  the  Chickahominy  that  afternoon,  under 
Slocum,  at  dark,  fully  one-third  were  wounded  or 
missing.  The  last  reinforcements,  the  Irish,  and 
French's  Brigades,  lost  but  few  men  comparatively, 
for  the  battle  ended  shortly  after  their  arrival. 

What  a  night  was  that  which  followed  !  Horrible 
beyond  description;  bringing  agony  to  the  woundo-.l, 
and  not  only  to  them,  bat  to  every  thoughtful  'ii111 


128  m  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL, 

along  the  whole  line.  No  deceptive  order,  like  the 
one  read  last  night,  could  have  found  a  moment's  cre- 
dence had  it  been  issued.  The  hopeful  tried  to  be- 
lieve it  was  a  drawn  battle,  and  that  the  rebels  were 
as  badly  injured  as  we.  But  many  muttered,  while 
more  cursed.  "  Why,"  said  a  Captain  of  the  Third 
Vermont,  in  my  hearing,  "  what  has  all  the  rest  of 
this  army  been  about  while  the  rebs  have  been 
slaughtering  our  men  like  sheep?  What  has  the 
main  army  been  doing  these  twenty  hours  of  carnage  ? 
What  has  the  bulk  of  our  corps  done  ?  Was  one  di- 
vision all  that  could  be  spared  to  help  those  who 
needed  assistance  ?  Scarcely  a  gun  fired,  that  I  have 
heard,  this  side  of  the  river  yesterday  or  to-day. 
Watching !  watching !  while  others  have  been  fight- 
ing and  dying !  I  tell  you,  gentlemen,  if  there  is 
not  something  '  rotten  in  Denmark,'  there  is  in  this 
army !  O,  I  am  so  ashamed  I  could  not  look  my 
friends  at  home  in  the  face.  Boom,  boom,  for 
eighteen  hours,  almost  within  musket-shot,  and  you 
and  I,  and  our  stalwart  brothers,  taking  no  part ! 
Two-thirds  of  the  army  have  not  fired  a  gun  all  the 
while  this  butchery  has  been  going  on  !  " 

But  complaints,  mutterings,  and  cursings  were  of 
no  avail.  The  morning  came,  and  the  defeated 
troops  fell  back  across,  the  Chickahominy.  In  the 
forenoon  some  of  the  Vermont  troops  had  a  little 


IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 


129 


skirmishing  with  the  enemy,  being  driven  out  of 
some  earthworks,  which,  after  the  right  wing  had 
fallen  back,  was  now  the  extreme  right  of  the  line. 
By  noon,  the  wagon-trains  had  commenced  moving 
towards  the  James.  But  White  Oak  Swamp,  an 
immense  woody  morass,  that  required  to  be  bridged 
a  fourth  of  a  mile,  lay  between.  This,  however, 
was  easily  done,  as  trees  were  abundant,  and  the 
water  shallow.  Half  a  day,  with  a  thousand  men, 
was  quite  sufficient  to  corduroy  it. 

Nearly  all  the  troops  north  of  the  railroad  were  in 
motion  by  sundown,  and  the  wagons  moved  on  slowly 
all  night.  The  steamers  and  other  vessels  at  White- 
house  Landing  had  been  sent  down  the  river,  and 
by  Sunday  morning  there  was  but  a  small  part  of 
that  grand  army  left  before  the  defences  of  Rich- 
mond. 

The  enemy  was  not  long  in  discovering  our 
absence,  and  speedily  prepared  to  follow.  The 
last  troops  to  leave  were  those  under  Sumuer. 
They  had  some  fighting  to  do  in  the  morning 
at  Savage  Station,  but  soon  the  stores  were  de- 
stroyed, an  engine  and  a  train  of  cars  run  into 
the  river,  the  magazine  blown  up,  and  the  last  of 
the  beseiging  army  was  pushing  on  in  one  of  the 
hottest  of  June  days,  followed  at  a  safe  distance  by 
t'.;o  exultant  enemy. 

9 


1 3o 


CAMP  AXD   HOSPITAL. 


The  historians  of  that  time  tell  of  the  seven  days' 
fighting  before  Richmond.  But  I  could  never  fully 
understand  them.  Their  record  does  not  tally  with 
my  observations.  There  was  fighting  Thursday  and 
Friday,  but  none  worth  naming  Saturday.  Sunday 
there  was  a  little  fighting  at  Savage  Station,  oil 
account  of  mismanagement  by  some  of  our  officers, 
but  I  think  very  few  were  killed.  In  fact,  but  few 
troops  were  engaged.  Monday  there  was  consid- 
erable fighting  at  White  Oak  Swamp  ;  but  if  one  will 
take  the  pains  to  ascertain  the  number  of  our  regi- 
ments and  batteries  engaged,  he  will  see  that  it  has 
been  greatly  exaggerated.  On  this  point,  whoever 
will  take  the  pains  to  search  records  of  soldiers' 
deaths,  will  find  but  a  small  number  who  were  killed 
at  White  Oak  Swamp.  It  is  true  that  our  troops 
formed  in  line,  after  passing  this  place,  to  check  the 
advancing  enemy.  Hancock,  with  a  division,  held 
tho  right.  Brooks'  Vermouters,  and  Davidson,  of 
Franklin's  corps,  lay  next  on  the  left.  Sunnier  and 
Hein'zleinan  and  Porter  extended  the  line  to  the  left, 
bordering  the  swamp,  while  a  hill  near  by  was  occu- 
pied with  batteries.  The  enemy  made  little  head- 
way in  the  effort  to  carry  our  strong  position ;  but 
late  in  the  afternoon  a  large  force,  under  General 
Henry  A.  Wise,  attempted  to  flank,  by  pa-sing  be- 
tween us  and  the  river.  They  were  met  !-y  P^i-  ..• 


IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL.  iy 

and  Keys,  but  were  driven  back  mostly  by  the  shells 
.from  the  gunboats  Galena,  Jacob  Bell,  and  Aro;>s- 
took.  The  rebels  must  have  lost  many  men,  but 
our  loss  was  very  small  indeed.  On  Tuesday  after- 
noon and  evening  occurred  the  memorable  battle  of 
Malvern  Hills.  I  would  not  attempt  to  belittle  it, 
but  here,  as  at  Games'  Mill,  but  a  small  part  of  the 
army  was  engaged.  The  battle  did  not -commence 
till  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon ;  and  if  I  remember 
rightly,  not  a  single  position  of  ours  was  carried  by 
the  enemy.  Here,  too,  we  had  the  most  valuable 
assistance  of  the  gunboats.  Many  noble  men  lost 
their  lives  ;  but  compared  with  battles  that  occurred 
later  in  the  war,  such  as  Antietam,  Gettysburg, 
Stone  River,  the  Wilderness,  and  Spottsvylvauia,  it 
was  but  a  skirmish.  Wednesday  was  occupied  in 
making  our  way  to  Harrison's  Landing.  Thursday, 
the  monitor  and  the  gunboats  were  busy  in  shelling 
that  portion  of  the  enemy  that  still  hung  on  our  rear. 
The  fightiug  was  done  at  Mechanics ville,  Games'  Mill, 
and  Malvern  Hills,  with  what  might  be  called  heavy 
skirmishing  at  Savage  Station,  White  Oak  Swamp, 
and  a  few  other  places. 

McClellan  sets  down  his  loss  in  killed,  wounded 
and  missing,  at  fifteen  thousand  two  hundred  and 
forty-nine.  This  may  be  the  true  number,  but  I  am 
confident  that  the  prisoners  were  the  largest  class. 


x-3  /-V  CAMP  AXD   HOSPITAL. 

There  were  thousands  of  soldiers  who  never  fired  a 
gun  at  a  rebel  in  all  those  seven  days.  This  was 
not  their  fault.  I  would  not  disparage  them,  ov 
belittle  then-  hardships.  These  were  great  enough 
in  that  malarious  atmosphere,  with  that  poison-water, 
even  without  fighting.  It  was  not  the  soldier's  fault 
if  he  did  not  fight.  Many  had  no  opportunity.  The 
policy  of  the  commander  was  not  to  attack,  but 
threaten ;  and  while  he  lay  threatening,  his  men  fell 
by  disease  in  hundreds  and  thousands.  In  that 
army,  as  it  lay  encamped  in  the  swamps  of  the 
Chickahomiuy,  there  was  suffering  that  cannot  be 
told.  The  water  was  cold,  palatable,  and  apparently 
refreshing;  yet  it  quenched  thirst  but  a  short  time, 
only  to  give  it  a  keener  edge.  Quinine,  though  you 
mixed  it  with  your  food,  would  not  kill  the  pain 
caused  by  this  deceptive  liquid.  The  sick,  besides 
those  retained  in  camp  hospitals,  daily  sent  back  to 
Whitehouse  Landing,  would  fill  a  train  of  many 
cars.  To  have  been  a  soldier  under  McClellan  while 
threatening  Richmond,  even  though  you  never  had 
an  opportunity  to  fight,  is  more  than  to  have  fought 
a  number  of  battles.  But  those  who  were  at  Games' 
Mill,  Mechanics ville,  or  Malveru  Hills,  will  never 
forget  the  occasion.  If  but  a  portion  of  the  army 
was  engaged,  those  who  bore  a  part  had  no  reason 
to  be  ashamed.  The  effort  was  lost,  and  thousands 


IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 


133 


perished  in  vain,  not  through  a  lack  of  soldierly 
qualities  of  the  men,  and  the  subordinate  officers, 
but  from  other  causes.  I  need  not  tell  the  reader  I 
am  no  critic  in  military  affairs.  But  men  of  capacity 
and  military  skill  said  in  my  hearing  that  McClellan, 
instead  of  needing  more  men,  which  he  was  con- 
stantly calling  for,  had  three  times  as  many  as  he 
ever  put  into  battle,  and  twice  as  many  as  he  could 
handle.  This  is  my  opinion.  Some  thought  at  the 
time  it  was  splendid  management,  on  his  part,  that 
not  a  wagon,  ambulance,  or  siege-gun  was  left  in  the 
hands  of  the  enemy.  As  the  man  said,  who  saw  for 
the  first  time  the  water  pouring  over  Niagara  Falls, 
"What's  to  hinder?"  So  may  we  say,  What  was  to 
prevent  taking  all  these  things  to  the  James  ? 

It  was  less  than  twenty  miles  to  a  point  where  the 
gunboats  could  come  to  his  assistance.  There  were 
a  plenty  of  sappers  and  miners  to  put  the  roads  in 
order,  or  make  new  ones  across  WMte  Oak  Swamp, 
the  only  place  that  presented  any  obstacle  to  moving 
an  army.  It  was  no  remarkable  strategy  to  start 
away  and  gain  a  day's  march.  Lee  did  this  at  An- 
tietam,  and  at  Gettysburg.  There  was  little  danger 
of  being  flanked,  right  or  left.  All  the  enemy's 
force  was  in  the  rear,  and  when  it  followed  was 
pursuing  an  army  superior  in  numbers,  with  no  lack 
of  imns  or  ammunition.  Had  it  been  otherwise,  and 


t34  1^  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 

were  the  bulk  of  our  men  wearied  out  with  pro- 
tracted engagements,  then  we  might  talk  about  the 
masterly  skill  that  saved  the  Army  of  the  Potomac.- 
There  was  little  to  do  but  "to  push  along  and  keep 
moving."  McClellaii  was  shrewd  enough  not  to 
make  a  stand  on  the  defensive,  until  he  came  within 
assistance  of  the  gunboats. 

I  feel  certain  that  when  we  left  the  Chickahomiuy, 
the  highest  officers  in  the  army  did  not  know  what 
point  on  the  James  we  were  to  strike.  On  Sunday, 
at  two  o'clock,  it  was  my  fortune  to  have  under  my 
care  some  five  hundred  of  such  among  the  wounded 
as  could  walk.  Being  anxious  to  take  them  forward 
as  rapidly  as  possible,  that  they  might  be  sent  down 
the  river  for  surgical  treatment,  I  made  an  ineffec- 
tual search  for  General  McClellaii,  but  none  of  his 
staff  could  tell  me  where  he  was,  or  where  to  take 
the  men.  One  of  the  young  French  noblemen 
promised  to  procure  the  desired  information,  but 
not  hearing  from  him  I  applied  to  an  old  former, 
who  did  his  best  to  give  us  the  shortest  route  to  a 
gunboat. 

I  will  close  this  chapter  with  an  incident  that  oc- 
curred in  the  evening  after  the  battle  of  Malvcrn 
Hills.  It  is  one  I  love  to  recall,  when  tempted  to 
believe  that  human  nature  contains  more  of  bad  than 
good. 


IN   CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 


135 


It  was  my  privilege  to  have  charge  of  the  hospital 
camp  at  Carter's  Landing  during,  and  the  night  after 
the  battle.  By  ten  o'clock  there  were  two  thousand 
or  more  of  the  sick  and  wounded  on  Colonel  Carter's 
plantation.  This  gentleman  had  a  field  of  wheat  which 
had  just  been  cut,  and  it  lay  in  the  gavel.  Obtaining 
all  the  assistance  I  could  muster,  we  gathered  up  ths 
wheat  and  made  hundreds  of  beds  on  the  grass. 
The  night  was  warm  and  still,  a  blanket  being 
sufficient  covering.  Amputations  were  out  of  the 
question.  There  were  present  Drs.  Palmer  and 
Brickett,  of  Maine,  two  as  good  surgeons  as  the  army 
afforded,  but  they  could  do  nothing  more  than  admin- 
ister opiates  and  other  medicines.  Tho  chief  busi- 
ness of  the  night  was  to  carry  water  for  drink,  and 
to  pour  on  the  wounds,  and  distribute  black  and 
beef  teas,  which  the  gunboat  Susan  Small  furnished. 
Towards  midnight  I  received  a  call  from  an  officer  of 
the  16th  Michigan,  who  wished  for  a  candle. 

Having  none  to  spare,  one  was  procured  at  the 
mansion-house,  after  which  he  said  he  was  going  to 
look  around  among  the  wounded,  to  see  if  ho  could 
find  any  that  belonged  to  his  regiment,  His  search 
proving  fruitless,  he  went  to  the  pump,  stood  on  the 
platform,  and  called  out,  "Sixteenth  Michigan.  Is 
any  one  here  from  the  16th  Michigan?" 

Faintly  came  an  answer  "  Here  !  this  way  !  "     AVe 


Xo6  IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 

found  a  poor  boy,  wounded  but  a  few  hours  before, 
through  the  left  arm  and  upper  part  of  the  body,  the 
murderous  iron  passing  near  his  heart,  just  missing 
it.  He  was  aware  that  he  had  but  a  short  time  to  live. 

"O,  I  am  so  glad  you  have  come,  I  thought  I  must 
die  alone  ! " 

Each  of  us  took  a  bloody  hand. 

"O,  this  pain  !    Can  I  have  some  water?" 

I  had  a  supply,  and  not  only  gave  him  to  drink, 
but  washed  the  powder  from  his  face.  He  had  been 
working  at  a  battery  that  afternoon,  and  was  struck 
down  by  a  small  piece  of  shell.  He  had  been  brought 
thither  to  die.  He  said  to  the  officer,  "Will  you 
pray  with  me?" 

We  knelt  by  his  side,  and  the  prayer  was  offered. 
And  such  a  prayer,  with  such  surroundings  !  Groans 
on  every  side,  some  calling  for  water,  delirious  men 
calling  for  their  wives  or  mothers,  some  praying, 
others  cursing  !  The  scene  maybe  imagined,  it  can- 
not be  described.  The  prayer  ended,  "Will  you," 
said  the  boy,  "stay  with  me  till  I  die?  It  will  not  be 
long?" 

"I  will." 

"And  will  you  write  to  my  mother?  you  know  her 
well,  and  will  you  tell  her  I  died  thinking  of  her?  " 

"I  will." 

Both  of  us  kissed  that  dying  boy,  and  one  of  us,  at 


IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL.  ^7 

least,  prayed  that  God  would  receive  his  spirit,  and 
pardon  his  youthful  errors,  and  that  we  who  were 
spectators  might  be  the  truer  and  braver  for  what  we 
had  seen. 

Before  morning  his  life  ebbed  a\vay,  and  that  Chris- 
tian officer  had  written  the  letter  to  inform  the  Mich- 
igan mother  how  her  noble  boy  had  died. 


138         We  are  marching  on  to  Richmond. 

Words  and  music  by  E.   W.  Locke, 


1.  Our  knapsacks  sling  and    blithely    sing.  We're  marching   on       to 

2.  Our    foes  are  near,  their  drunu  we  hear.  They're  camped  about  in 


Richmond;       With   \vea  -  pons  bright,  and  hearts     so       light     AVe're 
Richmond;       With    pick  -  ets     out,       to     tell      the       rout     Our 


:VZ=A:^rr:vTF 

bitESE 


march -lug     on     to       Richmond;       Each     wea-ry    mile,        with 
Ar-   my   takes  to      Richmond;       "We've  craf  -  ty     foes  to 


song    be -guile.    We  Ye     marching     on       to       Richmond;       The 
meet   our  blows.       No     doubt  they'll  fight  for      Richmond;       The 

roads  are  rough,  but  smooth  enough  To   take     us  safe     to'   Richnio'id- 
brave  may  die,  but    nev-er    fly,  We'll  cut   our  way    to    Richmond;' 


CHORUS. 


L      *>        N S        K        S         S        N 

~\V     J    II'3~ ^N       J         _N     "_pT~Ij     — ~H        N  fr 

^TEjr  *^— * * g=g=P^ • JT^f^ 

Then    tramp       a  -     way    while      the        bu  -    gles     play,    We're 


marching     on       to    Richmond,       Our    flag    shall  gleam     in     the 


K- y-is K1]    '  S -V S- — 3-. — jp-pTrf d — =— 


morning    tx-am,    From     rnau-y        a       spire  in     Richmond. 


— j/— >— --tr    *~~ P 


3. 

But  yesterday,  in  murderous  fray, 

While  marching- on  to  Richmond; 
We  panted  here  from  comrades  dear, 

While  marching1  on  to  Richmond  ; 
With  manly  sighs  and  tearful  eyes 

While  marching  on  to  Richmond  ; 
We  laid  the  braves  in  peaceful  graves, 

And  started  on  to  Richmond. 

CHO. 

4. 
Our  friends  away  are  sad  to-day, 

Because  wo  march  to  Richmond  ; 
With  loving  fear  they  shrink  to  hear, 

About  our  march  to  Richmond  ; 
The  pen  shall  tell  that  they  who  fell, 

While  marching  on  to  Richmond, 
Had  hearts  aglow  and  face  to  foe, 

And  died  in  sight  of  Richmond. 

CHO. 

5. 
Our  thoughts  shall  roam  to  scenes  of  home, 

While  marching  on  to  Richmond, 
The  vacant  chair  that's  waiting  there, 

While  we  march  on  to  Richmond  ; 
'Twill  not  be  long  till  shout  and  song, 

We'll  raise  aloud  in  Richmond, 
And  war's  rude  blast,  will  soon  be  past, 

And  we'll  go  home  from  Richmond. 
Clio. 


CHAPTEK    VII. 

INCIDENTS   IN   CAMP,    AND   ON  RETREAT. 

A  WEEK  or  so  before  the  battle  'of  Games'  Mill, 
that  most  interesting  personage,  the  Paymaster, 
made  his  appearance  one  morning  in  the  Division  of 
General  Smith.  He  had  been  heralded  a  few  days 
previously,  been  seen  in  some  other  portion  of  the 
army,  and  the  report  of  his  coming  had  taken  wings. 
He  had  been  watched  for  in  vain  for  a  long  time. 
Two  months  ago  he  would  come  in  a  week ;  a  month 
passed,  and  he  would  come  shortly.  But  there  is  no 
doubt  this  tune  that  he  is  near.  Certain  movements 
in  the  tents  of  the  ten  captains  are  sure  harbingers. 
The  muster-rolls  are  being  corrected.  Some  have 
died,  some  have  been  discharged,  a  few  are  missing, 
and  cannot  be  accounted  for ;  some  have  been  sent  to 
Baltimore  hospitals,  and  some  to  Whitehouse  Land- 
ing. Some  have  been  promoted  since  last  pay-day, 
and  on  that  little  sheet  of  thick,  firm  paper,  the  story 
of  the  Company  is  all  told.  The  sutlers  have  heard  of 
his  coming,  and  a  few  of  them  have  obtained  perniis- 
(140) 


IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL.  ^ 

sion  to  come  to  the  front,  to  collect  from  those  in 
arrears.  Letters  are  commenced  by  the  boys,  to  be 
finished  when  they  shall  have  received  their  four 
months'  pay. 

But  lo  !  he  is  here.  That  ambulance  drawn  by 
two  mules  brought  him.  He  has  an  iron  box  fifteen 
inches  square  by  twelve  in  depth.  It  is  carried  into 
the  Major's  tent,  and  a  guard  detached,  to  watch. 
Cheer  up,  soldier-boy,  you  are  to  be  paid  sixty-four 
dollars  for  four  mouths'  labor,  drilling,  marching, 
shoveling,  standing  camp-guard  and  picket,  digging 
rifle-pits,  throwing  up  breastworks,  working  in  the 
hospitals,  eating  quinine,  bearing,  without  the  right  to 
reply,  the  insolence  of  imperious,  brainless,  and  often 
drunken  men.  You  must  not  complain,  for  your 
wages  have  been  raised  five  dollars  per  month.  To 
be  sure,  your  Captain  will -get  six  or  seven  times  as 
much  pay  as  you,  for  much  less  laborious  work ;  but 
never  mind,  you  may  out-rank  even  him  before  the 
war  is  over.  Besides,  you  are  not  here  for  money, 
or  rank,  but  to  save  the  flag  from  dishonor.  But, 
with  all  your  patriotism,  you  cannot  ignore  money, 
and  so  we  will  take  another  look  at  the  paymaster. 

The  field-officers  having  been  paid,  the  line-officers 
of  Company  A  are  next  in  order.  It  requires  but  a 
short  time  to  pay  .them.  "Fall  in,  Company  A!" 
and  soon  the  line  is  moving  forward,  to  face  that  iron 


!42  IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 

box — not  exactly,  for  they  seldom  see  it.  They 
have  but  to  answer  to  their  names,  and  receive  the 
needed  greenbacks.  No  courage  is  needed  to  pass  this 
ordeal.  A  spectator  cannot  watch  this  scene  unin- 
terested. A  few  minutes  suffices  to  pay  one,  the  first 
giving  place  to  the  second,  moves  rapidly  off  to  his 
tent,  holding  the  new,  stiff"  notes  in  his  hands,  his 
heart  all  emotion,  thoughtless  of  the  fatigue,  hard- 
ships and  dangers  that  earned  it.  He  is  soon  fol- 
lowed by  others  of  his  comrades  as  happy  as  himself. 

"Bully  for  Uncle  Samuel ! "  says  one ;  "I  always 
knew  I  was  a  favorite  nephew,  and  that  some  day  he 
would  make  me  a  present,  but  never  expected  it 
would  come  when  a  part  of  his  relations  were  trying 
to  break  his  head ;  but  he  is  good  for  them,  and  my 
right  arm  is  at  his  service." 

"  Sixty-four  dollars ! "  exclaims  another ;  "all  right, 
just  as  good  as  gold,  and  much  lighter  to  carry. 
Why,  boys,  that  picture  of  Uncle  Abe,  who  saved 
our  comrade  over  in  the  3d  Vermont  from  being 
shot  for  going  to  sleep  on  guard,  is  worth  a  month's 
service.  Don't  I  like  to  look  at  it !  Somd  folks 
call  it  homely.  Handsome  is  as  handsome  does. 
But,  boys,  just  five  of  these  with  his  picture  on  each, 
(holding  up  five  ten  dollar  greenbacks)  are  going  up 
to  a  little  woman  in  Cavendish,  Vermont.  She  has 
a  little  pet  soldier,  two  years  old,  and  his  name  is 


AV  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL.  143 

Abraham  Lincoln,  and  we  call  him  little  Abe,  for 
short.  I  would  just  like  to  go  arid  carry  these  beau- 
ties, and  give  them  a  surprise ;  but  I  guess  it  will  all 
come  right  iu  a  few  days,  if  Little  Mac's  head  is 
clear,  and  I  think  it  is  ! " 

"Sixty-four  dollars!"  says  another.  "Not  much 
of  a  show ;  could  make  twice  that  iu  quarrying  mar- 
ble in  Castle  ton,  Vermont ;  but  I  would  not  mind 
that  if  I  did  not  owe  the  blarsted  sutler  ten  dollars, 
and  my  chums  fifteen  more.  I  promised  to  send  the 
old  lady  twenty-five  dollars,  but  shall  have  to  put 
her  off  with  fifteen." 

"Hurrah  for  chuck-luck !  I  am  in  for  some  fun. 
Hurrah  for  the  old  log !  I  say,  boys,  who  is  in  for 
chuck-luck?  If  anybody  has  got  a  better  title  to 
these  greenbacks,  he  is  welcome  to  them." 

Fifty  thousand  dollars  have  been  distributed 
among  the  men  of  that  regiment.  This  day  all  are 
in  camp ;  hospital,  picket,  and  other  duties  being 
performed  by  other  regiments.  Here  is  a  scene  for 
a  painter.  In  every  tent  one  or  more  is  preparing  a 
letter  for  home.  The  man  with  his  postage-stamps 
is  wanted  now,  if  ever.  There  is  hurrying  to  and 
fro  to  find  some  one  who  has  a  surplus,  a  few  sutlers 
are  hunting  up  their  debtors,  the  boy  who  has  been 
the  banker  for  his  tent-mates  has  got  out  his  memo- 
randum, and  is  reading  off  his  accounts :  Joe  G.^  ing 


I44  IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 

borrowed  fifty  cents  the  first  of  May,  fifty  cents  the 
eighth,  and  twenty-five  cents  the  tenth,  and  a  dollar 
the  first  of  June,  and  he  owes,  in  all,  two  dollars  and 
twenty-five  cents.  Jim  Fisher  borrowed  his  all  in  a 
lump,  and  he  owes  five  dollars ;  Alonzo  Smith  owes 
fifty  cents,  and,  in  due  time,  all  settlements  are 
made. 

In  some  of  the  tents  the  cards  are  brought  out, 
and  "poker,"  "old  sledge,"  or  "seven-up,"  take  up 
the  attention  of  a  small  group ;  but  out  by  the  old 
log  we  see  a  hundred  or  more  busy  at  the  chuck-luck 
board.  Is  it  possible  that  men  who  earn  their  money 
thus,  little  by  little,  are  to  hazard  it  in  gaming?  But 
one  board  is  not  enough  to  accommodate  all  who 
wish  to  play.  Look  on,  and  you  shall  be  astonished. 
You  would  suppose,  by  the  sums  staked,  that  the 
players  were  men  with  large  pay.  Seldom  a  five 
cent  piece.  A  fifty  cent  scrip  as  often  as  a  ten,  and 
a  dollar  almost  as  frequently  as  either.  Results : 
Two  days,  and  often  in  one,  after  the  men  have  been 
paid,  many  of  them  have  no  more  than  before,  and 
have  nothing  to  show  for  their  money. 

Before  an  army  reaches  a  position  of  danger,  it  is 
attended  by  sutlers,  and  camp-followers  of  every  de- 
scription. It  is  one  of  the  best  fields  known  for  pro- 
fessional gamblers.  I  know  officers,  who  made  more 
money  at  cards  thaii  their  pay  amounted  to.  Pro- 


IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL.  145 

fessioual  gamblers  obtained  berths  with  sutlers  and 
quartermasters,  simply  to  have  an  opportunity  to 
carry  on  their  business  with  the  soldiers,  and  avoid 
the  risk  of  being  driven  away. 

It  sometimes  happened  that  a  paymaster  would 
slip  out  two  notes  for  one,  and  thus  add  something 
to  the  soldier's  luxury -fund  for  the  next  two  months. 
Such  an  instance  occurred  at  the  time  I  am  writing 
of,  in  the  Vermont  Brigade,  one  of  the  men  getting 
ten  dollars  more  than  his  due.  He  discovered  the 
tempting  note  before  reaching  his  tent,  but  took  it 
along  and  showed  it  to  his  comrade. 

"And  what  are  you  going  to  do  with  it,  Jim? 
Send  it  home  to  your  mother,  as  you  do  most  of 
your  pay,  or  keep  it  for  a  good  time  ?  I  would  keep 
it,  and  give  Uncle  Sam  credit  towards  the  extra  work 
we  have  done  for  him.  I  tell  you  a  ten  spot  would 
not  be  out  of  place  once  in  a  while.  Credit  it  to  the 
shoveling  account,  and  I  will  not  charge  you  more 
than  five  per  cent,  for  the  advice.  Remember  we 
did  not  come  here  to  shovel,  but  to  fight." 

"I  shall  do  no  such  thing.  I  confess  that  when 
bringing  it  to  the  tent  I  intended  to  keep  it,  and  send 
it  home.  But  God  has  preserved  me  from  this  great 
sin.  Whether  we  came  to  shovel  or  to  fight,  or  do 
both,  matters  not ;  but,  whatever  our  duty,  I  did  not 
come  to  learn  to  steal.  The  parting  prayer  of  my 


!^6  IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 

mother  was  that  I  might  not  prove  a  coward,  or  be- 
come a  drunkard.  But  she  never  dreamed  that  her 
son  could  become  a  thief.  To  think  of  it  makes  me 
tremble.  I  have  relatives  who  are  immoderate 
drinkers,  and  some  who  may  be  called  drunkards  ; 
one  uncle  is  a  miser,  and  a  great-aunt  is  a  pauper, 
but  I  never  heard  of  a  thief  in  our  family." 

Entering  the  tent  at  the  close  of  this  little  speech, 
I  told  James  that,  though  no  eavesdropper,  the  can- 
vas did.  not  prevent  me  from  hearing  all  he  had  said, 
and  that  he  had  excited  my  curiosity.  On  asking 
Him  what  it  meant,  he  told  me  freely.  "  And  now," 
said  he,  "I  am  going  up  to  return  the  money.  But 
I  feel  so  much  like  a  thief,  I  can  scarcely  find  the 
courage." 

I  volunteered  to  return  it  for  him,  without  telling 
the  paymaster  at  what  name  the  mistake  was  made. 
But  he  said, — 

"No,  thief  or  no  thief,  I  will  go  myself.  It  will 
do  me  good.  All  I  ask  of  you  is  to  keep  the  mean 
transaction  a  secret ! " 

Away  he  went,  returned  the  money  without  unnec- 
essary remarks;  came  back  with  a  cheery  counte- 
nance, exclaiming,  as  he  entered  the  tent,  "There, 
Mr.  Satan,  catch  me  asleep  again  if  you  can ;  you 
have  got  not  only  me  to  fight,  but  a  good  mother  at 
home.  You  may  make  the  most  of  this  job ;  you 


IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 


'47 


will  have  to  try  me  on  some  other  side.     You  cannot 
make  a  thief  of  me,  after  this  !" 

The  night  before  the  battle  of  Games'  Mill  I  slept 
under  a  little  tent,  with  two  boys  of  Company  H,  16th 
New  York  Infantry.  When  the  warm  weather  came, 
the  wife  of  Colonel  Howland  presented  each  soldier 
in  the  regiment  with  a  light  straw  hat,  encircled  with 
a  black  ribbon,  bearing  the  name  of  the  regiment, 
making  them-  distinguishable  from  all  others  in  the 
army.  The  reveille  was  beaten  at  daylight,  and  after 
roll-call,  which  occurred  in  a  few  minutes,  my  tent- 
chums  were  busy  in  making  their  coffee,  while  I  lay 
on  the  ground  wrapped  in  my  blanket.  While  in  this 
position,  I  heard  a  boy  in  the  adjoining  tent  telling 
his  tent-mates  his  dream.  "Boys,"  said  he,  "this  is 
to  be  a  fearful  day.  A  part  of  my  mother's  family 
have  the  gift  of  seeing  events  before  they  transpire. 
I  know  dreams  are  ridiculed,  but  most  persons  are 
excited  by  remarkable  ones.  I  have  had  but  little 
experience,  but  every  important  event  of  my  life  has 
been  foreshadowed.  What  the  dream-books  teach 
is  of  no  account  to  me.  Whether  the  roosters  crow  in 
this  place  or  that,  whether  I  dream  of  fire  or  snakes, 
or  crowds,  or  pork,  or  have  any  kind  of  an  odious 
dream,  is  of  no  interest ;  but  there  are  times  when  I 
am  passing  from  open  consciousness  to  unconscious 
sleep,  that  I  seem  to  stop  on  middle  ground  for  a 


148  IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 

season,  and  behold,  as  in  a  panorama,  the  events 
that  are  soon  to  transpire.  This  privilege  is  not 
vouchsafed  often.  But  when  the  season  conies,  I 
know  events  of  great  moment  to  me  are  about  to 
take  place.  Going  to  sleep  last  night,  I  saw  the 
events  which  are  shortly  to  come  to  pass,  probably 
to-day.  We  are  to  go  to  battle.  We  are  not  to 
be  attacked,  but  to  be  sent  as  reinforcements,  reach- 
ing the  field  when  the  contest  is  fiercest.  A  large 
number  of  us  are  to  fall,  and  myself  among  the 
number.  I  shall  not  be  killed,  but  fall  into  the 
enemy's  hands  a  prisoner.  The  thundering  of  the 
cannon,  and  the  roar  of  the  musketry,  will  be  terri- 
ble. We  shall  be  beaten,  and  most  of  our  wounded 
will  be  made  prisoners.  I  saw  it  all.  I  blame  no  one 
for  laughing  at  me.  This  is  one  of  my  last  nights 
in  the  regiment,  and  when  I  am  missed,  you  will  re- 
member the  words  I  am  now  speaking." 

Everything  connected  with  the  battle  occurred  as 
he  had  foretold.  His  comrades  saw  him  fall.  He 
was  left  on  the  field,  but  whether  killed  or  dead,  I 
never  learned. 

In  the  evening  after  the  battle,  an  Irish  soldier, 
belonging  to  the  9th  Massachusetts,  came  into  our 
camp,  where  a  large  number  of  the  wounded  were 
gathered,  and  doubling  himself  up  in  the  condition 
of  a  man  dying  with  colic,  exclaimed,  "O,  Docther, 


IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 


149 


Docther,  do  be  afther  giving  mo  something  that's 
hot,  and  let  me  get  out  of  this.  The  divil  is  twist- 
ing me  innards  up  intirely.  Jasus,  and  Joseph  and 
Mary,  and  all  the  holy  angels,  help  me  out  of  me 
pain  ! " 

"O,  stop  your  bellowing,  you  great  calf.  Here 
are  fifty  men  worse  off  than  you,  and  yet  many  of 
them  scarcely  groan." 

This  was  the  language  of  a  surgeon ;  but  it  did 
little  good  to  talk  in  that  strain.  The  poor  man  was 
in  anguish  enough  to  kill  one  in  a  little  while ;  and 
though  he  was  not  wounded  as  the  fifty  others  were, 
he  was  writhing  in  tortures.  He  was  no  coward,  but 
dreaded  to  die  in  that  manner,  after  escaping  shot 
and  shell  through  that  bloody  day.  A  prescription, 
a  portion  of  which  was  hot  brandy,  brought  him 
right  in  less  than  an  hour,  and  before  morning  he 
was  the  most  useful  man  in  camp  in  waiting  on  the 
surgeons. 

Starting  Saturday  night,  without  supper,  fasting 
and  marching  all  day  Sunday,  it  may  well  be  be- 
lieved that  by  Monday  morning  my  appetite  was 
tolerably  keen.  But  the  prospect  for  breakfast  was 
by  no  means  flattering.  I  had  turned  into  a  wheat- 
field,  and  was  doing  my  best  to  satisfy  hunger  by 
eating  the  ripened  grain,  when  a  couple  of  colored 


I50  W  GAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 

boys  approached  me,  one  of  them,  cap  in  hand, 
inquiring,  — 

"Mas'r,  buy  some  cherries?" 

"  To  be  sure,  for  I  am  almost  starved."  But,  look- 
ing at  his  dirty  woolly  head,  and  his  face,  greasy  with 
sweat,  and  the  cherries  that  filled  his  cap,  my 
stomach  refused  to  ratify  the  bargain.  That  was  a 
kind  of  cherry-dish  not  familiar  to  me. 

"You  dirty  darkey,  why  did  you  put  those  nice 
cherries  in  your  greasy  cap  ?  " 

"Laws  sakes,  Mas'r,  dun  yer  see  I  turns  him?" 

He  had  turned  his  cap  before  filling  it ;  on  seeing 
which  my  appetite  returned,  his  cherries,  which  were 
large  and  delicious,  were  eaten,  and  soon  he  was 
climbing  a  tree  for  another  cap-full. 

Wednesday  morning,  shortly  after  daylight,  the 
hospital  camp  at  Carter's  Landing  was  all  commotion. 
The  battle  at  the  Hills  had  lasted  till  after  dark,  aiid 
it  took  a  large  part  of  the  night  to  gather  up  and 
carry  the  wounded  to  places  of  tolerable  comfort. 
A  number  of  good  surgeons  w'ere  on  the  ground, 
doing  what  they  could,  but  amputations  were  impos- 
sible till  we  could  ascertain  whether  we  were  to 
remain  there  or  go  down  the  river.  The  rumor  went 
through  the-  camp  like  lightning  that  the  rebels  were 
coming  upon  us.  Some  negroes  came  in,  who  told 
us  the  soldiers  were  moving  past  by  thousands,  a 


IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 


15* 


mile  above  us,  making  for  the  next  Lauding,  six 
miles  below,  and  that  they  thought  the  rebels  were 
chasing  them.  The  sick  and  wounded  implored  us 
not  to  leave  them.  Some,  with  half  their  hands  shot 
away,  their  fingers  dangling,  others  with  a  shattered 
arm  in  a  sling,  one  with  a  bullet-hole  in  his  cheek 
and  four  or  five  teeth  gone ;  in  fact,  all  that  could 
walk,  however  sick  or  injured,  started  out  to  find 
the  road  the  soldiers  were  moving  on.  Death  was 
not  dreaded  so  much  as  a  rebel  prison,  and  hence  the 
prayer  of  all  was  to  be  carried  forward. 

At  that  time  General  Wm.  B.  Franklin,  attended 
by  his  staff,  rode  into  camp.  On  my  asking  him 
what  was  to  be  done  with  the  sick  and  wounded,  his 
answer,  in  substance,  was,  — 

"  There  is  no  occasion  for  alarm.  The  rebels  were 
badly  whipped  last  night,  and  are  retreating  by  this 
time." 

"Shall  we  remain  where  we  are,  General?" 

"Of  course.  I  tell  you  there  is  no  occasion  for 
alarm.  There  seems  to  be  a  panic  here." 

I  made  my  report,  assuring  all  that  General  Frank- 
lin knew,  if  any  one  did,  whether  we  were  in  danger 
or  not.  But  no  one  gave  heed  to  his  words.  The 
negroes  had  told  us  about  the  moving  army,  and  we 
believed  their  report.  We  could  understand  that 
according  to  present  appearance*  we  should  soon  be 


152 


IN   CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 


in  the  rear  of  our  troops,  wherever  the  enemy  might 
be.  If  the  rebels  had  been  defeated,  which  we  very 
much  doubted,  a  few  armed  troops  were  sufficient  to 
capture  a  number  of  hundred  of  unarmed  wounded 
men  in  hospital. 

But  soon  the  army  wagons  and  ambulances  came 
pouring  into  camp,  and  some  one  —  I  know  not  who, 
for  General  Franklin  had  departed,  and  there  was  no 
superior  officer  on  the  ground  —  gave  orders  to  fill 
every  vehicle  with  patients  as  speedily  as  possible. 
There  was  no  time  lost  in  obeying  the  order,  if  we 
did  not  know  who  gave  it.  There  were  the  wagons, 
and  in  less  than  fifteen  minutes  hundreds  were  being 
carried  away  as  fast  as  the  mules  could  be  urged 
through  the  mud  and  the  pouring  rain. 

Among  the  last  to  be  lifted  on  their  respective 
stretchers  into  an  ambulance,  were  Lieutenaut-Colouel 
Marsh,  of  the  16th  New  York,  and  Captain  Stevens, 
of  the  4th  U.  S.  Artillery.  The  former  was  wounded 
through  the  neck,  and  otherwise,  the  latter  through 
the  thigh.  It  was  by  mere  luck  that  a  place  was 
secured  for  them.  We  thought  when  the  wagons 
came  in  there  were  enough  to  accommodate  all,  but 
it  was  found  that  we  had  many  more  patients  than 
conveyances.  There  were  quite  a  large  number  left. 
Telling  the  young  man  who  had  never  left  Colonel 
Marsh  from  the  time  he  fell  the  previous  Friday,  at 


IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL.  153 

Games'  Mill,  that  I  would  find  them  wherever  they 
stopped,  and  send  them  down  the  river,  if  possible, 
I  remained  a  short  time,  but  the  negroes  -assuring  us 
that  the  rebel  cavalry  were  close  by,  I  started  on 
with  as  much  speed  as  possible,  and  in  due  time 
found  them  at  Harrison's  Landing. 

Determining  to  send  these  two  men  down  the 
river,  taking  a  boat  and  pulling  out  into  the  stream, 
I  found  the  gunboat  Susan  Small,  which  had  been, 
the  previous  day  at  Carter's  Landing.  Approaching 
the  larboard  gangway,  I  asked  to  see  the  captain  or 
the  mate  of  the  vessel. 

"Have  you  business  of  importance?." 

"Of  course  I  have  ;"  but  it  was  hard  to  make  the 
man  on  the  steamer  believe  it. 

Being  destitute  of  both  hat  and  coat,  my  shirt- 
sleeves in  shreds,  and  my  pants  covered  with  mud, 
it  is  not  strange  that  the  man  was  unwilling  to  listen 
to  me.  I  found  then,  as  often  before,  that  it  required 
good  clothes  to  secure  a  hearing.  But  by  much 
earnestness  I  succeeded  in  seeing  the  mate. 

"Well,  what  do  you  want?"  impatiently,  as  though 
I  had  no  right  to  trouble  him. 

"I  have  two  badly  wounded  officers,  which  I  wish 
to  put  aboard  your  vessel." 

"Have  you  any  orders  to  that  effect?" 


154 


IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 


"No,  sir,  none  but  the  promptings  of  a  humane 
heart." 

"But  who  are  you?" 

"Yesterday  I  was  hospital  steward  at  the  Landing 
above,  where  your  vessel  lay,  and  to  whose  orders 
you  issued  supplies ;  to-day  I  am  the  friend  of  any 
one  who  needs  my  assistance." 

"Are  you  not  an  officer  of  the  Sanitary  Commis- 
sion?" 

"No,  sir;  I  am  nothing.  But  for  God's  sake  don't 
question  me  any  more.  You  and  I  came  here  to  do 
good,  and  not  to  run  about  with  a  roll  of  paper  and 
red  tape.  This  ship  is  large  enough  to  hold  two 
more  men  ;•  if  not,  send  two  well  ones  ashore,  and 
give  the  dying  their  room.  These  men  will  die  un- 
less they  can  have  surgical  aid  immediately,  and  the 
best  of  care." 

"I  will  take  them,  if  you  can  put  them  aboard." 

Taking  the  young  man  before  named,  and  finding 
two  more  to  assist,  we  were  enabled,  by  carrying 
one  at  a  time,  without  taking  them  from,  or  changing 
their  position  on,  the  stretcher,  to  place  them  in  a 
large  boat,  and  with  much  effort,  and  great  care,  put 
them  safely  aboard  the  vessel.  But  though  they  had 
every  care  skill  and  kindness  could  furnisl),  both  of 
them  died ;  the  Colonel  in  two  days,  the  Captain  in  two 


IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL.  155 

weeks.  The  officers  of  the  vessel  were  very  kind. 
Seeing  the  plight  I  was  in,  they  gave  me  a  pair  of 
pants,  a  straw  hat,  a  shirt,  and  a  pair  of  stockings. 

If  the  reader  wishes  to  know  why  I  was  in  such  a 
forlorn  condition,  I  can  inform  him  in  a  few  words. 
Being,  with  two  others,  the  last  to  leave  the  hospital 
camp,  when  we  struck  the  first  woods  we  were 
alone.  Looking  through  the  bushes,  we  discovered 
some  cavalry  sweeping  by,  as  if  to  cut  off  our  retreat. 
Just  then  there  was  some  ground  and  lofty  tumbling, 
as  well  as  pretty  good  running.  My  companions 
left  me  far  in  the  rear,  for  running  is  not  my  forte. 
A  limb  caught,  not  only  my  hat,  but  my  wig  with  it. 
Without  stopping  to  recover  either,  I  pushed  on 
through  the  wood  and  brush,  coming  out  in  the  sor- 
riest plight,  as  I  was  seen  when  I  made  my  appear- 
ance at  the  gangway  of  the  gunboat.  Probably  the 
cavalry,  that  gave  us  the  fright,  were  our  own  men, 
though  it  is  a  matter  of  doubt. 

Of  all  the  horrible  pictures  of  that  march  from  the 
Chickahominy  to  the  James  that  come  up  to  trouble 
me,  while  living  it  over  and  over  again,  scarcely  one 
is  more  painful  than  this.  Sunday  afternoon  we 
started,  five  hundred  or  more,  hoping  to  reach  the 
river  before  dark.  All  were  hors  du  combat,  the 
larger  part  being  more  or  less  wpuuded,  while  some 


!56  W  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 

were  quite  sick.  One  of  the  most  feeble  of  a  squad 
of  four,  myself  included,  which  kept  together,  was 
a  sergeant  of  Colonel  Kane's  Bucktails,  the  First 
Pennsylvania  Reserves.  We  carried  his  gun,  knap- 
sack, cartridge-box,  and  canteen,  even  leading  him 
as  we  would  a  man  ready  to  drop.  Often  he  asked 
for  drink,  and  every  few  minutes  we  would  allow 
him  to  wet  his  lips.  The  terrible  fever  was  on  him  ; 
his  tongue  was  yellow,  his  breath  hot.  There  was 
no  house  near,  and  what  to  do  we  knew  not.  Sud- 
denly, after  drinking  as  much  from  the  canteen  as 
we  would  allow,  he  said  he  felt  better,  and  could 
walk  alone.  He  lingered  behind  a  few  rods,  and 
when  we  looked  back  he  was  gone.  The  road  was 
lined,  on  either  side,  with  forest  and  thick  under- 
brush. He  had  plunged  into  the  bush,  and  it  was 
nearly  dark.  We^lost  no  time.  We  called,  searched, 
mapped  out  the  ground,  and  each  took  his  section. 
But  he  could  not  be  found.  We  made  a  bed  there 
of  dry  twigs  and  leaves,  drew  our  blankets  about  us, 
and  tried  to  rest,  not  sleep ;  for  we  listened  all  the 
night  for  the  sound  of  his  voice,  or  the  moving  of 
the  bushes,  or  any  sound  that  might  indicate  his 
presence  in  our  neighborhood.  But  he  was  never 
seen  again  in  the  army ;  at  least,  in  his  regiment.  I 
do  not  marvel  that  a  young  man  could  have  been  so 


IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 


'57 


careless,  but /ought  to  have  known  better  than  to 
take  my  eye  from  him,  and  allow  him  to  linger  five 
rods  in  the  rear.  But  he  preferred  to  walk  alone, 
and  we  humored  him.  His  bones  undoubtedly  lie  in 
that  thicket  to  this  day. 


158     We  must  not  fall  back  any  more. 

E.   W.  Locke. 


I.  The       for  -  tunes     of      war        oft  -  en    change,     boys.    And 


tri-fles  will  oft  turn  the  scale;    Though  hea  -  vy    the    blows  that  we 


strike,     boys,  "We      fiud    that    the      tru  -  est   may    fall:          But 


who          has       the     heart      to          de    -    spuir,        boys?     Or 


who   will  advise    to  turn  back?        We'll  just    add    a    lit-  tie  more 


steam,     boys,  And     rush     our    good  cause     o'er  the      track, 


we     must    not   fall    back     a   -  ny     more,       boys,    We 


must  not   fall     back    a  -    ny   more,       Advance     be     the  word,  Ry  - 

..     f - «_i*_j:*-  •      •    -*-  -*-.:*-    » 

=p=£  =fcE»I^^if  r— P    IT 


159 


treat  nev  -  er  heard,  We    must   not     fall   back     a    -  ny     more. 


2. 

We've  battled  thus  long  for  the  right,  Jboys, 

Regardless  of  station  or  gold, 
We've  suffered  from  hunger  and  thirst,  boys, 

And  tramped  through  the  heat  and  the  cold ; 
But  let  our  brave  leaders  once  call,  boys, 

We'll  rush  to  the  fray  as  before, 
We're  ready  to  fight  or  to  die,  boys, 

But  not  to  fall  back  any  more. 

CHO. 
3. 

We  often  go  home  in  our  dreams,  boys, 

And  sit  by  the  old  kitchen  fire, 
Arid  tell  o'er  the  tales  of  our  camps,  boys, 

To  listeners  we  never  can  tire  ; 
But  just  in  our  moments  of  bliss,  boys, 

While  thinking  our  hardships  are  o'er, 
The  order  comes  round  to  turn  out,  boys, 

Fall  in  and  tramp  on  as  before. 

CHO. 
4. 

Our  comrades  fill  many  a  grave,  boys, 

Our  brothers  are  crippled  and  maimed, 
Of  those  who  fall  as  they  fell,  buys, 

Their  country  need  not  be  ashamed  ; 
We  sigh  for  the  blessings  of  peace,  boys, 

We  tire  of  the  war-bugles  blast, 
We'll  conquer  before  we  go  home,  boys, 

We'll  fight  for  our  flag  to  the  last. 
CHO. 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

SUBSISTENCE. 

IT  has  often  been  said  that  no  army  was  ever  so 
well  fed  as  ours.  That  may  be  true ;  but  if  so,  army 
fare,  in  general,  is  not  very  attractive.  Most  of  the 
time,  the  officers  could  live  pretty  much  as  they 
chose,  three  or  four  messing  together,  hiring  a  cook, 
and  purchasing  supplies  at  a  trifle  above  cost.  If 
they  fared  poorly,  it  was  their  own  fault.  There 
were  times,  however,  when  money  could  not  pur- 
chase proper  food ;  but  these  were  rare.  Most  of 
the  time,  and  in  most  of  the  departments,  fresh  beef 
was  procurable  at  reasonable  rates,  flour,  the  best  of 
coffee  and  tea,  lard,  sugar,  molasses,  dried  apples  and 
peaches,  to  say  nothing  of  canned  poultry,  and  other 
luxuries. 

But,  for  the  first  year  or  two  of  the  war,  the  luxu- 
ries of  the  common  soldier  were  few.  His  cofiee,  at 
first,  came  roasted  and  ground,  and  a  large  part  of 
it  must  have  been  furnished  by  the  brother  of  the 
shoddy-clothing  contractor.  In  course  of  time, 
(160) 


IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL.  161 

however,  it  came  in  the  berry,  and  generally  of  most 
excellent  quality.  But  it  was  a  long  time  before  the 
meat  was  what  it  should  have  been.  The  pickled 
beef  of  the  Eastern  army,  and  the  smoked  pork  of 
the  Western,  even  as  late  as  '03,  were  often  execra- 
ble. The  beef  was  tough,  and  often  tainted,  and  the 
pork  frequently  so  bad  that  no  part  but  a  little  fat, 
eaten  on  the  hard-bread,  could  be  made  use  of.  On 
the  outside  it  was  black  as  a  shoe ;  on  the  inside, 
often  yellow  with  incipient  putrefaction. 

But  in  less  than  two  years,  this  outrage  on  the 
soldier  ceased.  The  hard-bread,  from  poor  and 
wormy  stuff,  became  as  good  as  possible.  Huge  ovens 
were  set  up  wherever  practicable,  bread  as  good 
as  the  men  had  been  accustomed  to  eat  at  home, 
was  distributed  by  the  army-wagon  load ;  droves  of 
fat  cattle  were  being  constantly  sent  to  the  field  for 
slaughter,  sa  that  fresh  beef  was  as  common  to  the 
soldier  as  to  the  mechanic  or  laboring  man  at  home. 
With  these,  and  beans,  rice,  molasses,  sugar,  coffee, 
and  tea,  if  he  wished  to  purchase  it,  and  all  of  most 
excellent  quality,  and  sometimes  potatoes,  what  sol- 
dier could,  in  reason,  complain  of  his  food?  There 
was  almost  always  a  surplus,  which,  jf  the  regiment 
had  an  honest  quartermaster,  was  returned  pro  rata 
in  money.  Of  course  there  were  occasions  when 
supplies  were  short,  but  these  were  rare. 
ii 


1 62  IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 

It  would  astonish  men  accustomed  to  dine  on  two 
or  three  courses  daily,  the  year  round,  and  who  think 
they  eat  no  more  than  necessary  for  good  health  and 
cheerful  spirits,  yet  who  do  not  work  enough  in  a 
month  to  start  the  sweat,  to  see  what  an  amount  of 
work,  marching,  or  digging  a  man  can  do  on  a  few 
ounces  of  meat,  a  pint  of  good  coffee,  and  three 
hard  biscuits,  not  larger,  superficially,  than  your 
hand,  and  but  a  third  as  thick;  and  this,  week  after 
week,  without  losing  flesh. 

It  is  common  in  the  Army  for  a  company  or  regi- 
ment to  be  sent  across  some  mountain-ranges,  where 
no  wagon,  or  even  mules,  can  be  taken.  It  is  inter- 
esting to  see  the  men.  pack  their  knapsacks.  It  would 
seem  that  they  should  not  carry  much  burden,  but 
it  is  cold,  and  each  must  have  an  overcoat,  cany  a 
blanket,  one-third  of  a  dog-tent,  a  canteen,  a  pint 
cup,  a  haversack  filled  with  beef,  hard-bread,  and 
coffee,  with  a  little  sugar;  also,  forty  rounds  of 
Minie  cartridges,  and  his  rule,  weighing  from  nine  to 
twelve  pounds.  If  the  road  is  tolerable,  he  will 
make  twenty  miles  a  day  with  all  this  burden.  If 
he  has  to  climb  mountains,  and  wade  snows,  and 
even  fight  one  or  two  small  engagements,  he  will  do 
it  on  the  little  food  he  put  into  his  haversack  on 
starting  out,  and  return  to  camp  but  little  fatigued. 

It  must  be  confessed,  that  with  all  the  strict  orders 


IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL.  163 

against  theft  from  citizens,  it  was  difficult  to  restrain 
hungry  soldiers  from  foraging  upon  the  rebel  farms, 
under  favorable  circumstances. 

The  most  scrupulous  officer  in  guarding  rebel 
property  I  saw,  was  General  Hancock.  It  did  not 
require  much  to  start  him  to  swearing,  in  a  high  key, 
at  any  time.  But  if  any  of  the  men  burnt  rails,  or 
were  found  in  possession  of  a  sheep  or  a  calf,  or  if  he 
found  any  of  the  officers  conniving  at  this  kind  of 
thieving  among  their  men,  one  could  hear  language 
not  laid  down  in  Hardee,  or  found  in  the  Army  Kegu- 
latious. 

I  will  give  an  instance,  which  I  did  not  see,  but 
which  was  current  in  the  Army,  and  is  undoubtedly 
true.  Marching  from  Warrenton,  the  troops  under 
Hancock  had  received  orders  to  respect  private  propr 
erty.  Passing  by  a  turnip-field,  a  brigade  helped 
themselves  to  all  they  could  carry.  Hancock  coming 
along,  found  the  Colonel  and  his  Chaplain,  with  half  a 
dozen  of  the  vegetables  attached  to  each  of  their 
saddles,  while  each  was  munching  away  at  a  delicious 
one,  as  large  as  a  saucer. 

Hancock  to  the  Colonel : 

"  Who  commands  this  regiment  ?  " 

"  I  have  the  honor,  sir." 

"Were  you  not  ordered  to  respect  private  prop- 
erty?" 


^4  IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 

"I  was,  sir." 

"  And  yet  you  and  all  your  men  are  crunching  tur- 
nips. I  arrest  you,  sir.  Send  your  sword  to  my 
headquarters." 

I  think,  however,  that  was  the  last  of  the  affair, 
yet  other  transactions  might  be  related  as  ridiculous 
as  that. 

Sometimes  the  orders  were  very  strict;  but  a 
drove  of  shoats  or  a  few  fine  wethers  were  too  tempt- 
ing to  escape  slaughter,  at  any  period  of  the  war. 
Moving  on,  with  a,  train  of  wagons,  escorted  by  a 
company  of  cavalry  for  protection,  coming  to  an 
eminence  and  looking  over  the  plains  beyond,  we 
discern  one,  two,  yes,  —  three  horsemen,  galloping 
as  in  a  steeple-chase,  or  as  if  pursued  by  an  enemy. 
One  has  discharged  his  carbine.  "We  can  scarcely 
hear  the  report,  it  is  so  far  away,  but  the  little  puff 
of  smoke  informs  us.  Now  another,  and  then  an- 
other. Some  of  the  timid  wagoners  think  we  have 
come  in  sight  of  the  enemy,  and  become  so  nervous 
that  they  are  on  the  point  of  leaping  from  the  near 
wheel-mules  each  is  astride,  and,  allowing  their 
teams  to  take  care  of  themselves,  fly  to  the  woods 
for  safety.  But  the  wagon-master  knows  their 
thoughts  as  well  as  his  business.  This  is  not  his 
first  experience.  He  was  in  the  Mexican  war,  and 
has  taken  half  a  dozen  trains  across  the  plains  to 


IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL.  rf* 

California.  He  sees  at  a  glance  that  that  party  of 
racing,  shooting  horsemen,  are  a  squad  of  our  own 
escort,  who  have  put  out  from  their  comrades  to 
scour  the  plantations  for  fresh  meat. 

They  have  found  a  dozen  shoats ;  but  as  the 
young  porkers  can  run,  for  a  short  time,  nearly  as 
fast  as  the  horses,  and  as  they  can  tack  and  double 
in  half  the  time  of  their  pursuers,  it  is  not  a  very 
easy  matter  to  run  them  down,  and,  besides,  the 
young  carbineers  have  scarcely  got  the  hang  of  their 
weapons.  Hunting  pigs  on  horseback  is  a  science 
they  have  not  studied.  It  was  not  taught  in  their 
school-room,  in  singing-school,  or  at  the  Commercial 
College  ;  and  even  the  drill-sergeant  never  gave  them 
any  instruction  in  this  practice.  The  situation  is 
both  novel  and  exciting,  both  conditions  being  un- 
favorable to  success. .  But  before  the  horses  are 
entirely  out  of  wind,  and  the  ammunition  has  been 
exhausted,  one  eighty-pound  porker  falls  an  unwil- 
ling sacrifice  to  his  country,  and  the  places  that  knew 
him  will  know  him  no  more.  Slinging  him,  as  a 
hunter  does  a  buck,  when  he  has  a  horse  to  sling  him 
on,  the  troopers  return,  proud  of  their  trophy,  little 
dreaming  of  the  jokes  they  have  got  to  submit  to 
at  supper  from  those  whom  they  have  taken  so  much 
pains  to  feed. 

Dressing  pork  in  the  army  is  not  the  momentous 


1 66  IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 

occasion  it  is  in  the  country  farm-house  at  home. 
There  is  no  rising  from  bed  before  daylight,  getting 
out  the  cauldron-kettle  from  its  long  resting-place, 
filling  it  with  water,  and  putting  under  it  a  huge  pile 
of  wood ;  there  is  no  turning  the  grindstone,  to 
sharpen  the  long,  hideous  knives ;  there  is  no  hurry- 
ing among  the  women  folks  to  get  the  breakfast  out 
of  the  way,  and  the  children  off  to  school,  to  avoid 
hearing  that  fearful  death-wail  that  comes  from  the 
stye  on  slaughter-day ;  but,  quite  unpoetic,  and  very 
business-like,  the  trooper  finds  the  two  sharpest 
knives  in  the  Company,  selects  the  most  expert  assist- 
ant, and  in  half  an  hour  the  thick  hide,  with  the 
bristles  still  on,  has  been  separated  from  the  flesh, 
the  internal  parts  and  head  left  as  a  delicious  treat 
for  the  first  flock  of  crows  that  visit  our  camping- 
ground,  and  the  meat  is  being  cooked  in  half  a  dozen 
camp-kettles. 

"John,"  says  one,  addressing  the  one  who  claimed 
to  have  shot  the  pig,  "this  meat  would  be  first-rate, 
but  for  one  fault." 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  the  meat  ?  I  pronounce 
it  capital." 

"  Why,  it  is  shot  all  to  pieces  ! "  —  the  joke  lying 
in  the  fact  that  it  had  but  one  mark  on  it. 

"  I  wonder  what  breed  this  pig  belonged  to  ?  " 

"  Racers  ! "  is  the  answer. 


IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL.  iCj 

"  Why  did  you  not  bring  the  rest  of  the  drove  ?  " 

"Our  cartridge-boxes  do  not  contain  but  forty 
chambers,  and  we  came  back  to  refill  them." 

"  Did  you  see  the  old  rebel  who  owns  the  shoats  ?•" 

"Yes." 

"Did  he  speak  to  you?" 

"Yes." 

"What  did  he  say?" 

"  He  said  we  were  welcome  ;  that  he  could  raise 
them  faster  than  we  could  kill  them;  and  that  he 
hoped  we  were  going  to  stay  in  his  neighborhood, 
for  he  should  miss  us  if  we  left.  He  said  he  liked 
sport,  and  it  was  the  first  he  had  enjoyed  since  the 
war  commenced." 

"Was  that  all  he  said?" 

"He  did  just  remark,  as  we  left  him,  that  he  had 
a  boy  in  the  rebel  army,  and  hoped  he  would 
never  meet  us  in  battle,  for  if  he  did,  and  the 
news  should  reach  home,  all  would  go  into  mourn- 
ing without  waiting  to  hear  the  boy's  fate." 

"What  shall  we  call  the  man  who  killed  this  pig?" 

"A  fratricide  !  because  he  killed  his  brother." 

"And  the  ingrates  who  eat  it,  cannibals  ! "  replied 
the  man  at  whom  the  last  thrust  was  aimed. 

In  many  sections  of  the  country,  particularly  in 
Tennessee,  foraging  was  a  heavy  duty.  A  regiment, 
escorted  by  a  battalion  of  cavalry,  and  one  or  tw« 


l6S  AV  CAMP  AXD  HOSPITAL. 

guns  from  a  battery,  would  start  early  in  the  morn- 
ing,  taking  all  its  wagons,  and  push  out  from  five  to 
fifteen  miles,  for  forage.  Coming  to  corn,  or  any- 
thing else  that  would  help  subsist  the  animals,  the 
cavalry  would  be  thrown  out  ahead,  to  give  warning 
if  the  enemy  approached,  and  the  guns  placed  in  such 
position  as  to  command  the  approaches,  and  defend  in 
case  of  attack ;  the  wTagons  were  soon  filled,  and  the 
farmer  despoiled  of  his  golden  harvest.  If  he  were 
gentlemanly  in  his  deportment,  the  officer  in  charge 
would  probably  give  him  a  certificate,  stating  the 
kind  and  estimated  quantity  of  the  property  taken. 
If  the  owner  proved  sulky  and  insulting,  he  would 
get  nothing  to  show.  It  was  not  uncommon,  as  late 
as  February  or  March,  to  find  a  field  of  fifty  acres  of 
corn  standing  just  as  it  grew,  ready  for  our  foragers. 
Sometimes  it  would  be  found  in  the  shock,  unhusked, 
of  course;  at  others,  in  the  crib,  and  it  was  not  un- 
common to  find  a  mine  of  it  carefully  buried  in  the 
earth,  —  one  or  two  thousand  bushels,  —  to  keep  it 
from  falling  into  our  hands. 

After  the  summer  of  '62,  there  was  but  little  hay 
sent  to  the  Army.  At  one  time  the  Pamonkey  was 
completely  filled  with  vessels  for  two  miles,  and 
many  of  these  were  laden  with  pressed  hay ;  but  it 
was  found  too  bulky  an  article  for  transportation,  and 
after  McClellan  left  the  defences  of  Richmond  there 


IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 


169 


was  little  hay  sent  to  the  army,  the  animals  subsist- 
ing mostly  on  corn,  with  some  oats. 

The  army  lived  much  better  than  the  citizens 
among  whom  it  quartered.  The  poorer  class  of  the 
South,  before  the  war,  never  lived  so  well  as  the 
same  class  North.  There  were  certain  dishes  com- 
mon there  that  I  marvel  have  never  been  introduced 
among  us  as  daily  food;  one  of  these  is  hominy, 
which  we  call  hulled  corn,  and  which  is  by  no  means 
an  every-day,  or  every-week  dish,  in  many  sections 
of  the  North.  Corn-cake  is  not  nearly  so  common 
with  us  as  with  them ;  and  I  think  no  one  can  excel 
a  Southern  darky  woman  in  cooking  a  chicken,  if  she 
is  not  limited  as  to  dressing.  But  the  omnipresent 
ham,  the  poor  and  poorly-cooked  potatoes,  the  inev- 
itable hoe-cake,  and  the  mean  butter,  always  make  a 
Northern  man  sigh  for  a  "  square "  meal.  During 
the  war,  many  of  the  Southern  people  were  reduced 
almost  to  starvation. 

A  few  weeks  after  the  battle  of  Stone  Eiver,  worn 
down  by  hospital  service,  and  nearly  sick,  I  felt  the 
need  of  a  change  of  diet,  and  a  roof  to  shelter  me 
from  the  rainy  and  freezing  nights,  as  well  as  the 
snow  and  severe  cold,  which  came  once  in  a  while, 
for  a  change.  Calling  on  a  lady,  who  had- out  a  sign 
"Bourders  Wanted,"  I  found  she  had  a  good  two-story 
brick  house,  with  four  large  rooms,  and  six  or  eight 


170  IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 

smaller  ones.  She  was  a  lone  war-widow,  with  two 
little  children,  her  husband  fighting  for  "  the  bounie 
blue  flag,"  and  she  keeping  "bourders,"  when  she 
could  obtain  any  guests  at  her  hotel,  as  aspiring 
boarding-house  keepers  call  their  places.  I  told  her 
I  was  almost  sick,  and  wanted  a  temporary  home, 
and  if  she  could  accommodate  me,  should  be  most 
happy  to  patronize  her  establishment  for  a  season. 

"You  are  a  Northern  man,  I  reckon." 

"Yes,  ma'am ;  but  that  will  make  no  difference,  so 
long  as  I  conduct  myself  like  a  gentleman,  and  pay 
my  bills." 

"  That  is  so ;  but  you  said  you  were  sick.  I  can- 
not have  my  house  turned  into  a  hospital.  You  are 
not  coming  down  with  measles,  small-pox,  or  any- 
thing like  those,  are  you  ?  " 

"No,  ma'am,  I  have  had  all  the  contagious  diseases, 
but  matrimony,  already,  and  I  do  not  think  there  will 
be  any  danger  of  taking  that  till  the  war  is  over." 

"Well,  you  would  be  in  poor  quarters  to  have  that 
here.  Men  are  troublesome  creatures  to  take  care 
of  when  anything  ails  them,  but  when  they  have  got 
the  matrimonial  fever,  they  are  regular  pests.  I 
reckon  they  had  better  have  chills,  shakes,  intermit- 
tent and  swamp  fevers,  and  anything  but  hydro- 
phobia. And  of  all  men,  matrimony  makes  the  big- 
gest fools  of  old  men.  No,  sir,  T  do  not  want  any 


IN   CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL.  iji 

candidates  for  the  pest-house,  mad-house,  or  hymen's 
altar  to  board  with  me." 

"But,  ma'am,  your  blade  is  too  sharp  for  me,  I 
see  at  once.  To  come  back  to  business — will  you 
take  me  to  board?" 

"That  will  depend  upon  circumstances.  I  shall 
wish  to  know  how  you  would  like  the  room  I  could 
give  you?" 

Taking  me  to  a  large  chamber,  finished  in  good 
style,  though  the  walls  were  without  paper,  she 
asked  if  it  would  suit  me. 

"It  will  suit  me  perfectly.     What  is  the  price  ?  " 

"  General  Bragg's  army  has  been  here  all  winter. 
Some  of  the  officers  had  this  room,  and  they  paid  me 
a  dollar  a  meal,  and  a  dollar  a  day  for  room-rent ; 
but  if  you  will  pay  me  in  silver  or  gold,  you  shall 
have  it  for  fifty  cents  a  meal,  and  the  same  per  day 
for  room-rent." 

"It  is  cheap  enough,  and  I  will  pay  you  a  week  in 
advance,  and  take  the  room  as  soon  as  it  is  in  readi- 
ness for  me." 

"But  there  are  some  preliminaries  to  be  consid- 
ered. I  am  a  lone  woman;  or,  in  other  words,  my 
husband  is  in  our  army,  and,  for  appearances  at  least, 
I  prefer  to  take  two  or  three  men  into  my  house  in 
preference  to  one.  Could  you  not  find  some  one  to 
occupy  the  room  with  you?  or,  what  would  be  a 


172  IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 

great  favor  to  ine,  could  you  not  find  three  wishing 
board,  so  that  both  of  my  chambers  might  be  occu- 
pied? In  that  case,  I  could  make  your  board  half- 
price." 

"I  think  that  number  can  be  easily  found.  At  any 
rate,  I  would  like  to  come  as  soon  as  my  bed  can  be 
got  ready." 

"I  have  no  bed  for  the  room." 

"What !  take  boarders  and  lodgers  without  a  bed?" 

"I  expected  you  would  find  your  own.  Our  men 
found  theirs." 

She  noticed  my  look  of  astonishment,  and  con- 
tinued,— 

"Why,  man,  not  only  our  spare  beds,  but  our  car- 
pets have  gone  to  support  the  cause.  I  do  not  know 
what  your  people  up  North  have  done;  we  have 
given  our  all ;  no  spare  beds  or  carpets  while  one  is 
wanted  in  the  hospital." 

"Luckily  I  have  a  cork  bed  and  a  pair  of  blankets, 
and  shall  be  all  right  when  once  installed  in  this  nice 
room.  But  allow  me  to  ask,  if  you  please,  about 
the  living.  Can  you  give  me  fresh  meat  once  a 
day?" 

"If  you  get  it  twice  a  week  you  may  think  your- 
self fortunate.  When  I  can  get  it  for  myself,  you 
shall  have  it  also." 

"Can  you  give  me  flour-bread  and  hot  biscuit?" 


IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 


'73 


"I  have  no  flour ;  but  if  you  will  buy  a  sack  of 
your  folks,  I  will  pay  you." 

"You  can  furnish  coffee  for  breakfast,  and  tea  for 
supper?" 

"I  have  neither ;  but  if  you  will  procure  them  I 
will  pay  for  them,  though,  for  myself,  I  like  rye 
coffee  as  well  as  any." 

"Have  you  sugar  and  lard?" 

"Why,  no ;  did  you  reckon  I  kept  a  hotel?  I  can 
give  you  better  fare  with  what  I  have,  and  a  few 
such  articles  as  you  could  procure  for  me  of  your 
people,  than  our  officers  had;  and,  with  my  cook- 
ing, if  I  do  say  it,  you  would  find  a  table  good 
enough  for  anybody  in  war  times  like  these.  Now 
if  you  think  this  will  not  suit  you,  you  had  better 
try  somewhere  else." 

Thanking  her  for  her  trouble,  and  telling  her  she 
should  hear  from  me  again  in  a  short  time,  I  went 
farther,  received  much  better  promises,  made  a  bar- 
gain, carried  my  bed  and  blankets  to  my  new  quar- 
ters, and  was  soon  reckoned  a  new  boarder.  But  at 
every  visit  to  the  table,  I  wished  I  had  made  terms 
with  the  lone  war-widow.  She  might  have  been, 
and  probably  was,  a  cook.  My  present  landlady  was 
not  only  a  mean  cook,  but  a  slattern  and  a  snuff- 
clippei .  Bah  !  nastiness  !  Why  do  men  drink  and 
chew,  and  women  snuff,  dip,  and  smoke?  Brute 


ifo  IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 

beasts  have  no  similar  habits.  Here  is  an  enigma 
wiser  heads  than  mine  have  never  solved.  But  there 
was  something  at  the  house  worth  seeing  and  hear- 
ing, if  the  victuals  were  dirty.  A  sutler's  wife  had 
come  down  from  Michigan  to  make  her  husband  a  brief 
visit,  and  this  was  her  temporary  home.  She  brought 
with  her  their  hopeful  son,  about  five  years  old.  His 
name  was  Napoleon;  but  his  pet  name  was  "Little 
Nappie."  Whatever  we  had  for  breakfast,  we  always 
had  "Little  Nappie."  No  matter  what  subject  we 
wished  to  introduce  or  discuss,  "Little  Nappie"  was 
the  principal  one.  The  mother  seemed  to  remember 
all  he  had  said  and  done  since  the  previous  meal,  and 
it  must  all  be  related.  Nappie  had  a  gun  that  shot 
with  a  spring  instead  of  powder,  and  carried  peas  in- 
stead of  bullets,  and  he  had  hit  the  dog  six  times, 
and  the  cat  four  times,  and,  as  an  evidence  of  his 
great  smartness,  he  had  said  that  he  should  like  to 
shoot  Jeff.  Davis  with  his  gun.  He  was  put  through 
his  catechism  of  who  is  President,  and  who  is  Gov- 
ernor, and  who  who  was  the  first  man,  etc.,  etc.,  at 
about  every  meal.  He  was*  the  "autocrat  of  the 
breakfast-table,"  and  his  silly  mother  an  unmiti- 
gated bore.  She  evidently  brought  him  clown  to 
show,  more  than  anything  else.  Nothing  on  the 
table  suited  him  :  "Will  Nappie  have  some  nice  meat 
and  sweet  potato?" 


IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 


'75 


"No  !"  with  a  shake  of  the  head. 

"Will  Nappie  have  a  piece  of  this  nice  corn-bread, 
with  some  new  butter  on  it?" 

"No  !  I  tell  you ;  I  won't  have  no  old  corn-bread. 
I'll  have  some  of  father's  canned  peaches,  or  I  won't 
have  anything.  I  want  a  treat." 

"And  so  you  shall  have  them.  Nappie  ain't  used 
to  Tennessee  living,"  said  his  mother ;  and  his  father, 
to  avoid  a  scene,  went  out  and  got  the  peaches. 

One  morning,  the  mother  was  a  little  unwell,  and 
Nappie  came  to  the  table  with  his  father,  who  was 
going  to  take  charge  of  the  young  man  in  absence 
of  the  head  of  the  family.  A  mince-pie  was  within 
reach,  and  before  any  one  had  been  helped  to  any 
food,  little  Nappie  had  run  his  knife  under  a  piece 
of  the  tempting  pie,  and  had  nearly  removed  it  from 
the  plate,  when  his  father  saw  him,  and  with  a  sharp 
voice,  and  a  stern  look,  ordered  him  to  put  it  back. 
Eyeing  the  man  who  had  not  given  any  orders  to 
him  for  a  year,  a  moment,  and  seeing  that  he  must 
yield,  he  withdrew  the  knife,  but  looked  daggers  at 
all  of  us.  Hoping  to  mollify  him  a  little,  I  said, — 

"Sonny,  do  you  go  to  school  when  you  are  at 
home?" 

"No  I  don't !" 

"Don't  you  love  to  go  to  school?" 
'    "No  I  don't!" 


176  'IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 

The  poor  "parient"  was  terribly  mortified.  So  he 
said,  in  some  anger, — 

"Napoleon,  what  do  I  tell  you  to  say  when  you 
answer  yes,  or  no?" 

"You  tell  me  to  say  yes,  sir-ee  bob  !  That's  what 
you  tell  me  to  say,  you  old  crab-apple  ! " 

The  mother  heard  the  trouble,  and  coming  to  the 
head  of  the  stairs,  called  out:  "Come  to  your 
mother,  Nappie  darling.  Let  your  father  attend  to 
his  sutlering.  He  don't  know  how  to  bring  up 
children." 

The  foregoing  incident  reminds  me  of  a  very  pleas- 
ing feature  in  the  habits  of  speech  of  many  Southern 
people,  which  no  Northern  visitor  or  sojourner  can  fail 
to  notice.  It  is  particularly  noticeable  among  the 
women  and  children.  It  is  a  peculiar  softness  and 
sweetness  of  voice,  with  the  most  endearing  expres- 
sions, many  of  which,  though  common  there,  would 
be  pronounced  absurd  and  flat  here.  "  Pa  !  "  says  my 
little  girl  hi  Boston,  ending  the  word  short,  with  a 
bit  of  falling  inflexion,  simply  wishing  to  call  atten- 
tion to  what  she  is  about  to  say.  If  her  father  does 
not  answer  immediately,  and  she  is  obliged  to  repeat 
her  call  two  or  three  times,  her  "Pa  !  "  will  end  ab- 
ruptly, and  in  such  a  tone  that  one  will  see  that  she 
is  angry,  and  almost  defiant.  But  my  little  girl  of 
Chatanooga,  Memphis,  or  even  Baltimore,  calls  oui 


IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 


I77 


"Pa-r!" —  "Pa-r!"  with  a  rising  inflexion,  and  a 
tone  so  dependent  and  persuasive,  that  it  would 
seem  none  could  resist  it.  And  the  females,  both 
white  and  black,  are  ever  saying  to  their  friends  : 
"Don't  do  this,  honey,"  and  "I  know  you  will  do 
that  for  me,  honey."  A  few  of  the  Southern  phrases, 
and^some  of  the  habits  of  Southern  children,  might  be 
imported  among  us,  to  great  advantage. 

The  Southern  women  are  much  more  dependent 
than  their  Northern  sisters.  I  do  not  remember  to 
have  met  one  of  the  strong-minded  south  of  the  Poto- 
mac or  the  Ohio,  I  did,  indeed,  see  women  more  or 
less  masculine,  but  never  an  advocate  of  Woman's 
Rights.  They  cling  to  man,  and  feel  it  a  disparage- 
ment not  to  have  some  male  to  look  to  for  support. 
When  th.ey  are  driven  to  it,  I  think  they  evince  as 
much  heroism  and  ingenuity  to  adapt  means  to  ends 
as  Northern  women  ;  but  a  Southern  woman,  if  she 
pretends  to  keep  house,  is  never  so  poor  as  to  be 
without  a  negro  of  some  sort.  It  is  the  same  now  as 
during  and  before  the  war.  A  rich  woman  must 
have  three  or  four  colored  females,  and  one  or  two 
colored  boys ;  but  the  poor  widow  must  have  at 
least  one  little  black  girl.  It  costs  but  little  to 
feed,  and  next  to  nothing  to  clothe  her.  They  fear 
Mrs.  Gruudy  more  than  poverty.  It  is  not  work 
they  dread  so  much  as  loss  of  caste,  —  a  fear  that  is 


j^S  IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 

a  malady  of  almost  universal  prevalence  among  the 
human  race. 

At  Harper's  Ferry,  the  Army  took  quite  a  long 
rest,  after  the  battle  of  Antietam.  Many  of  the  citi- 
zens found  it  difficult,  at  that  time,  to  procure  food. 
The  orders  were  so  strict,  it  was  almost  impossible 
to  obtain  anything  from  the  Virginia  side.  A  well- 
known  Union  man  might  obtain  a  pass  to  go  beyond 
Bolivar  Heights,  to  purchase  a  load  of  wood,  or  a 
few  bushels  of  wheat,  if  any  farmer  was  so  lucky  as 
to  have  it  to  spare ;  but  there  were  many  families 
that  found  it  difficult  to  keep  from  starving,  living 
principally  by  charity.  I  became  acquainted  with 
one  such.  It  consisted  of  a  woman  of  middle  age,  a 
daughter  of  twenty,  and  two  boys  of  thirteen  and  fif- 
teen, of  large  size  for  their  years.  They  lived  prin- 
cipally on  the  gifts  of  the  family  with  whom  I  board*  d. 
The  mother  was  such  a  bitter  rebel,  she  would 
scarcely  speak  to  me  ;  the  boys  shunned  me,  refusing 
all  the  presents  offered  them ;  but  the  young  woman 
accepted  all  kindness  with  gratitude.  In  a  short 
time  she  watched  for  my  return  at  night,  and  found 
something  substantial,  such  as  meat,  rice,  and  coffee, 
to  carry  home.  She  called  me  her  Northern  uncle, 
and  wished  she  could  go  to  my  home. 

One  day  I  told  her  I  had  a  plan  that  would  relieve 
the  family  from  want,  while  the  Army  should  remain 


IN    CA/IP  AND    HOSPITAL. 


179 


there,  if  she  would  be  willing  to  adopt  it.  Opening 
her  eyes  to  the  widest  tension,  she  said,  — 

"I  hope  you  are  not  going  to  propose  anything 
dishonorable." 

"Nonsense  !  You  are  entirely  out  of  food,  and 
have  been  for  two  weeks  or  more,  except  what  you 
have  received  from  your  friends,  and  have  no  means 
of  procuring  any.  I  understand  that  to  be  the  situ- 
ation of  your  famity  at  this  time  ?  " 

"Yes  sir;  but  bad  as  it  is,  we  would  not  do  any- 
thing dishonorable.  We  would  starve  first." 

"  Is  there  a  large  oven  in  the  house  ?  " 

"Not  in  the  house,  but  in  the  yard." 

"Have  you  an  iron  kettle  that  will  hold  five  or 
six  gallons  ?  " 

"We  have  not :  but  this  lady  has,  and  we  can  bor- 
row it.  But  what  are  you  scheming  at  now?  We 
cannot  take  in  washing  with  a  six-gallon  kettle  !  " 

"Hear  me  a  minute  without  interruption.  Procure 
a  sack  of  flour,  twenty  pounds  of  lard,  some  dried 
apples,  and  twenty  pounds  of  sugar,  and  you  and 
your  mother  go  to  baking  in  the  oven,  and  frying  in 
the  kettle,  apple-pies  for  the  soldiers." 

"  But  we  have  no  money  to  buy  the  articles  you 
name,  nor  have  we  credit  ngw7  though  we  used  to 
have/' ' 


I  So  IN  CAMP  AND   JW'SPITAL. 

"  I  will  furnish  the  money,  and  you  can  pay  when 
the  pies  shall  have  been  sold." 

"Thank  you.  I  like  the  plan,  and  mother  shall 
come  right  down,  and  talk  it  over  with  you.  I  will 
do  my  part.  But  we  shall  be  obliged  to  have  a  sign, 
and  let  the  soldiers  know  we  have  pies  to  sell. 
But  that  will  not  be  bad.  Who  shall  we  get  to  make 
the  sign?" 

"That  is  not  the  plan.  You  will  need  no  sign. 
Those  brothers  of  yours  will  sell  them  on  the  hill, 
among  the  troops." 

"But  that  will  make  peddlers  of  them.  I  do  not 
know  as  they  would  be  willing  to  become  peddlers  ; 
and  I  do  not  know  as  mother  would  be  willing  to 
have  them  come  down  to  that ;  but  I  will  tell  her." 

I  had  wounded  their  pride.  She  never  watched 
for  my  coming  afterwards,  nor  called  me  her  North- 
ern uncle,  nor  received  from  me  any  more  presents. 


CHAPTER    IX. 

WOMEN   IN   THE   ARMY. 

THE  reader  may  think,  by  the  title  of  this  chapter, 
that  he  is  to  find  it  filled  with  romance.  All  of  us  have 
heard  much  of  vivandiers,  and  daughters  of  the  regi- 
ment. In  France,  the  former  are  allowed  as  a  kind  of 
sutler,  selling  the  soldiers  wine  and  some  kinds  of 
food.  The  nearest  approach  to  this  class  it  was  my 
privilege  to  see  in  the  Army,  was  a  Vermont  woman 
at  the  Chickahominy,  busy,  from  morning  till  night, ' 
over  a  kettle  of  hot  fat,  cooking ;  turnovers  for 
those  who  wanted  to  buy  a  poor  substitute  for  hard- 
bread.  I  saw  the  eagle  of  the  regiment,  that  Wis- 
consin bird,  whose  fame  is  known  throughout  the 
land ;  but- 1  do  not  recollect  to  have  seen  a  single 
specimen  of  this  poetic  character,  "La  Fille  du 
Regiment"  It  is  said  there  was  a  woman  with  the 
first  Michigan  Cavalry,  who  was  known  as  Irish 
Biddy ;  but  if  there  was,  she  wore  the  dress,  did 
the  work,  and  drew  the  pay  of  a  soldier.  Instead 
of  the  daughter  of  the  regiment,  she  was  a  bmild 
(181) 


iS»      '  IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 

soger  boy.  Some  famous  exploits  were  told  of  the 
wife  of  General  Turchin,  but  having  heard  them  all 
second-hand,  I  prefer  not  to  print  them. 

I  doubt  not  that  most  of  what  has  been  reported 
in  the  books  and  papers  about  the  heroic  conduct  of 
women  in  the  field,  is  true ;  but  as  but  little  of  it 
came  under  my  notice,  I  must  refrain  from  obser- 
vations. 

The  great  bulk  of  women's  work  in  the  war  was 
in  the  city  hospitals,  not  at  the  front.  Washington, 
Baltimore,  Philadelphia,  New  York,  Frederick  City, 
Memphis,  Louisville  and  Nashville,  could  each  fur- 
nish sufficient  material  for  a  book  on  this  subject, 
that  would  eclipse  any  of  Dickens'  novels,  provided 
we  had  a  Dickens  to  write  it,  and  he  would  not  be 
under  the  necessity  of  resorting  to  fiction.  I  regret 
not  having  seen  more  of  her  work  in  the  hospi- 
tal ;  but  I  could  not  be  in  two  places  at  the  same 
time,  front  and  rear.  Had  I  the  same  great  drama 
to  witness  again,  I  should  see  more  of  woman  in  the 
sick-room — that  sphere  in  which  she  shines  with 
preeminent  lustre.  If  man  does  claim  superiority 
in  mastering  abstruse  sciences,  elaborating  ideas,  and 
bringing  to  light  hidden  relations ;  if  there  never  was 
a  female  Newton,  Copernicus,  Columbus,  or  Ra- 
phael, any  man  who  was  ever  really  sick  two  weeks, 
and  under  the  care  of  a  man  the  first,  and  a  woman 


IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL.  183 

the  second,  knows  that  in  the  sick-room  she  is 
in  her  sphere,  while  man  is  "out  of  his.  Of  course 
there  are  exceptions.  There  are  men  who  are  good 
wherever  placed,  and  there  are  women  who  are  good 
for  nothing,  in  whatever  situation. 

A  noticeable  incident  occurred  during  the  battle  of 
Malvern  Hills.  The  gunboat  Susan  Small  arrived  a 
few  hours  before  the  battle  opened.  She  was  laden 
with  hospital-stores,  and  had  on  board  a  number  of 
nurses ;  among  whom  were  two,  perhaps  more,  fe- 
males. Gathered  in  a  field  on  the  north  bank  of  the 
James,  were  a  large  number  of  sick  and  wounded,  a 
part  of  the  disabled  in  the  battles  of  the  three  or  four 
previous  days  ;  and  as  soon  as  the  fighting  at  the  Hills 
above  commenced,  the  number  of  wounded  rapidly 
increased.  Two  women  from  the  gunboat  above  men- 
tioned, with  tin  cups,  accompanied  by  two  men. car- 
rying four 'pails  filled  with  refreshments,  two  with 
beef-tea,  one  with  black-tea,  the  fourth  with  lemon- 
ade, made  their  appearance  among  the  sufferers,  to 
dispense  their  comforts.  They  did  not  come  to  dress 
wounds.  They  spoke  few  words  with  their  mouths, 
but  many  and  eloquent  ones  with  their  eyes ;  but 
the  sight  of  them  then  and  there  did  the  heart 
good. 

It  seemed  as  though  the  spirit  of  our  wives, 
mothers,  and  sisters  at  home  were  incarnated  in  these 


!§4  IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 

women.  Their  very  few  words  were  woman's  words, 
but  they  had  a  power  man's  do  not.  When  we  saw 
them  moving  about,  distributing  the  contents  of 
those  pails,  it  needed  but  a  little  stretch  of  the  im- 
agination to  make  them  seem  beings  of  another 
sphere.  We  hardly  knew  whether  they  were  young 
or  old;  whether  they  had  black  tresses,  auburn 
ringlets,  or  chestnut-brown  curls  ;  whether  their  eyes 
were  blue,  black,  or  hazel.  It  was  enough  that  they 
were  women.  Their  presence  was  proof  that  women 
cared  for  us,  and  were  willing  to  brave  danger,  and 
come  even  within  range  of  the  fearful  shells  to  min- 
ister to  those  from  whose  wounds  the  warm  blood 
was  still  flowing.  In  their  presence,  men  could  suf- 
fer with  more  fortitude,  and  die  with  more  resigna- 
tion. If  we  could  not  look  upon  our  dear  ones  at 
home,  we  could  upon  their  representatives.  How 
often  did  I  wish  that  mothers,  who  had  reared  two 
or  three  boys,  could  come  to  the  front  and  dress 
wounds  for  a  month  after  a  battle ;  and  yet  many 
of  these  would  be  unfit  for  such  duty.  Some  of  the 
men  who  were  helpers  in  hospitals  would  have  been 
better  employed  in  a  butcher's  shof  .  Who  does  not 
know  the  difference  between  one  who  knows  how  to 
dress  a  painful  wound,  and  a  bungler?  One  touches 
you  in  just  the  spot  where  it  will  give  you  the  least 
pain,  takes  up  the  bandage  carefully,  watches  the 


•/AT  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL.  ^5 

dressing  as  it  cleaves  from  the  wound,  using  a  little 
tepid  water  when  it  is  needed,  then,  with  nice  suds, 
and  the  softest  sponge,  washes  the  filthy  matter  from 
the  reddened  but  unbruised  flesh,  showering,  with 
the  cleansing  liquid,  the  parts  that  are  too  sensitive 
to  be  sponged ;  then,  carefully  covering  the  injured 
part  with  some  healing  salve  on  the  softest  linen,  she 
seizes  the  bandage,  and  binds  up  the  suffering 
part  most  neatly,  making  the  linen  bear  evenly 
on  every  part,  every  manipulation  being  that  of  an 
artist.  Her  touch  is  full  of  magnetism  that  thrills 
you,  and,  painful  though  your  wound  may  be, 
you  long  for  her  coming  to  dress  it  again.  But  how 
different  the  other  !  She  has  but  just  touched  you, 
and  you  groan  with  pain.  Her  hands  seem  filled 
with  needles'  points.  She  slips  the  bandage,  chafes 
and  reopens  the  wound,  sets  it  to  bleeding  afresh, 
uses  too  much  or  too  little  dressing,  gets  the  band- 
age too  loose  or  too  tight,  puts  a  needle  through 
the  flesh  instead  of  the  cloth,  and,  before  she  is  done 
with  you,  most  likely  lets  the  salve-box,  or  a  piece 
of  soap,  drop  on  the  most  sensitive  part.  When 
she  is  through  you  are  glad,  not  only  for  her  sake, 
but  for  your  own.  There  were  men  in  hospital  ser- 
vice who  were  fit  assistants  to  the  surgeons ;  but 
where  there  was  one  who  was,  there  were  many  who 
were  not.  Women  always,  for  hospital  service,  when 


!86  W   CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 

they  can  be  had.  The  great  Father  knew  whether 
the  male  or  the  female  would  make  the  best  nurse, 
when  He  gave  her,  instead  of  him,  the  care  of  in- 
fants and  children. 

But  there  was  enough  of  noble  work  to  be  done 
where  women  could  go,  and  most  nobly  did  they  do 
it.  Every  town  has  some,  and  every  city  many, 
who  are  pointed  out  now,  and  will  continue 
to  be  mentioned,  long  after  they  are  dead,  as  the 
women  who  did  so  much  for  the  soldiers.  Tens  of 
thousands,  whose  domestic  duties  were  such  that 
they  could  not  give  all  their  time,  went  every  day, 
or  at  least  every  week,  with  little  presents  to  boys 
in  the  hospital.  Many  a  mother,  with  two  or  three 
mouths  besides  her  own  to  provide  for  daily  with  her 
needle,  found  a  spare  hour,  and  a  spare  quarter,  with 
a  bunch  of  flowers,  for  the  soldier-boy  on  his  couch. 
The  school-mistress,  whose  head  ached  with  the  care 
of  a  hundred  children,  was  not  too  weary  to  carry 
some  oranges,  and  cheering  words,  and  sweet,  encour- 
aging smiles  to  somebody's  sick  brothers.  The  sew- 
ing-girl, also,  and  the  poor  widow,  gave  their  mites. 

Though  I  saw  but  comparatively  little  of  women 
in  the  sick-room  in  the  Army,  yet  that  was  enough 
to  notice  the  difference  between  men  and  women 
when  they  visited  hospitals.  Where  one  of  the  for- 
mer wpnt,  there  were  five, — yes,  ten  of  the  latter. 


IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL.  187 

Men  went  with  their  wives  or  friends,  if  needed,  but 
most  of  them  went  more  for  curiosity  than  to  show 
their  sympathy.  Few  stood  over  the  cots,  took  the 
hand  and  held  it,  wiped  the  forehead  with  their  own 
handkerchiefs,  and  talked  of  home.  But  women  did 
this.  And  why  did  not  men?  Because  they  are 
not  women. 

And  then  the  Soldiers'  Aid  Societies,  what  a 
work  did  they  perform  !  It  is  astonishing  that  there 
was  no  lack  of  funds  to  carry  on  a  war  of  such  huge 
proportions.  Though  gold  and  silver  were  out  of 
use,  we  built,  in  a  few  years,  one  of  the  most  power- 
ful Navies  of  the  world,  paid  such  bounties  as  no 
other  nation  ever  paid  its  soldiers,  fed  them  bounti- 
fully, clothed  them  amply,  and,  with  few  exceptions, 
paid  them  promptly ;  and,  during  all  the  time  of  war, 
towns  thrived,  cities  grew  rapidly,  and  when  we 
needed  funds  we  had  credit,  at  home  and  abroad,  for 
at  least  three  thousand  millions  of  dollars.  This 
seems  marvellous.  But  when  we  think  of  the  money 
raised,  the  clothing  manufactured,  the  fruit  and  other 
comforts  contributed  by  the  loyal  women  of  the 
North,  we  are  amazed.  If  a  million  of  dollars  is 
wanted  in  one  year,  if  women  have  little  executive 
ability  compared  with  men,  they  are  equal  to  this 
emergency.  Where  is  there  a  town  in  all  the  North 
that  had  not  a  Soldiers'  Aid  Society;  and  where 


XS8  IK  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 

is  the  woman  that  was  so  poor  that  she  contributed 
nothing  ? 

As  I  write,  a  picture  comes  before  me  of  a  woman 
and  her  boy,  twelve  years  of  age,  residing,  in  '62, 
in  Georgetown,  D.  C.  The  husband  and  father  held 
a  small-paying  office  in  the  Treasury  Department, 
but  his  family  Expenses  took  nearly  all  of  his  earn- 
ings. I  cannot  give  the  name,  but  they  were  rela- 
tives of  Ex-Governor  N.  P.  Talmadge,  o*f  Wisconsin, 
who  was  a  boarder  there  at  the  time  referred  to. 
Being  a  boarder  myself,  I  was  an  eye-witness  of 
what  I  am  going  to  relate.  She  had  a  spare  bed,  and 
every  night,  just  before  dark,  this  boy  would  go  to 
the  nearest  corner,  and  watch  the  crowd  of  passing 
soldiers.  Some  were  on  business ;  some  were  in 
health,  and  others  ought  to  have  been  in  the  hos- 
pitals. Seeing  one  whose  walking  indicated  feeble- 
ness, the  lad  approached  him,  and  said,  — 

"Good-evening,  soldier ;  you  seem  sick  or  weary." 

"I  am  not  feeling  very  well  to-night,  sonny,  but 
think  I  shall  be  all  right  in  the  morning." 

"Have  you  a  good  place  to  sleep  to-night?" 

"Pretty  good,  when  I  get  to  it." 

"My  mother,  who  lives  in  that  Tiouse,  sent  me  to 
ask  you  to  come  to  supper,  and  stay  over  night." 

"You  must  be  mistaken.  I  am  a  stranger  here, 
and  I  am  sure  your  mother  never  saw  me." 


fN  CAMP  AND   HO  SPIT AL.  ^9 

"That  makes  no  difference.  She  sent  me  out  here 
to  find  two  feeble  or  sick  soldiers,  to  come  and  eat 
and  sleep  in  her  house  to-night,  without  pay,  and  I 
would  like  to  have  you  go,  for  one." 

"Why,  sonny,  the  sight  of  such  a  woman  would  be 
worth  a  month's  pay,  and  I  will  go.  I  did  not  know 
they  had  such  women  about  Washington." 

That  woman  had  a  spare  bed,  and  at  every  meal 
placed  two  extra  plates  on  her  table,  for  such  soldiers 
as  her  little  boy  could  find  to  make  use  of  them. 
They  did  not  eat  at  a  second  table,  or  in  the  kitchen, 
but  with  the  family ;  and  Governor  Talmadge  was  as 
happy  to  talk  with  them  as  with  Members  of  Con- 
gress, many  of  whom  called  to  see  him.  It  mattered 
not  whether  they  were  bankers'  clerks  or  rich  men's 
sons,  or  uneducated  and  unpolished,  they  came  to 
protect  the  flag  from  dishonor,  and  that  was  a  free 
table,  and  all  who  sat  around  it  were  equal. 

In  writing  of  the  heroism  of  our  Northern  women, 
we  ought  not  to  forget  that  the  Southern  women 
were  as  devoted  to  their  cause  as  our  mothers  and 
wives  to  theirs.  Elegant  houses  were  appropriated, 
converted  into  stables  during  heavy  storms,  and  yet 
the  mistresses  often  bore  the  cross  without  a  tear, 
the  love  of  their  cause  deepening  as  their  sacrifices 
multiplied. 

Some  time  in  February,  '63,  the  raiding  rebels  at- 


!C)o  '!&  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 

tacked  a  train  from  Nashville  to  Murfreesboro',  threw 
the  cars  from  the  track,  disabled  the  engine,  and  so 
injured  the  road  that  it  was  a  number  of  days  before 
the  cars  could  run.  Transportation  in  the  mean- 
time was,  of  course,  done  by  animals.  For  some 
reason,  the  sick  and  wounded  among  the  rebel  pris- 
oners, taken  at  the  battle  of  Stone  Eiver,  were  sent 
to  Nashville,  at  least  a  considerable  portion  of  them, 
ambulances  being  used  for  the  purpose.  The  road 
is  a  macadamised  pike,  and  was  in  pretty  good  order, 
BO  that  the  train  could  move  at  a  pace  of  four  or  five 
miles  an  hour. 

I  started  out  with  the  train,  on  horseback;  but 
not  being  able,  from  an  injury  of  long  standing,  to 
ride  faster  than  a  walk,  fell  behind.  I  had  been 
out,  perhaps,  an  hour,  when  I  heard,  a  cantering 
horse  on  the  hard  road  in  the  rear.  Turning  my 
head,  I  beheld  a  most  comical  object,  mounted  on  a 
diminutive  white  pony,  urging  the  sweating  beast  to 
its  utmost  speed.  I  had  seen  a  similar  exhibition  at 
a  circus;  but  never  before  outside  the  ring.  My 
first  thought  was  that  a  soldier  had  found  a  little 
pony  among  some  of  the  farmers,  and  was  out  for  a 
show.  But  then,  the  rider  was  too  small  for  a  sol- 
dier, though  it  might  be  a  drummer-boy  ;  and  as  to 
the  show,  there  was  no  one  to  see  the  sport,  if  it 
was  intended  for  sport,  but  me.  But  I  had  not 


IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 


191 


much  time  for  conjecture.  The  speed  slackened  as 
they  approached  me,  and  the  rider  seemed  almost 
as  much  out  of  breath  as  the  horse.  I  saw  that  the 
strange  being  was  a  female ;  not  a  frolicksome  girl 
out  for  an  excitement,  nor  a  gay,  young  widow  to 
show  her  charms,  nor  a  "woman  fat,  fair  and  forty," 
but  one  old  enough  to  be  a  grandmother,  and  one  of 
the  most  ill-shapen  of  women.  Horse  and  rider 
were  well  matched  as  to  size.  Both,  on  the  scale  to- 
gether, would  hardly  turn  six  hundred  pounds.  There 
were  but  three  articles  of  clothing  visible — an  old 
black  bombazine  dress,  a  bonnet  as  much  like  that 
of  a  Quakeress,  without  being  one,  as  possible,  and 
a  pair  of  coarse  socks  in  place  of  shoes. 

"Stranger,  I  reckon  some  kerriges  has  passed  this 
yere  road  jest  neow,  with  a  heap  of  Southern  sick 
boys.  Could  yer  tell  me  anything  about  'em?" 

"I  should  think  they  might  be  two  miles  ahead, 
ma'am.  But  what  is  the  trouble  ?  Have  they  taken 
anything  that  belongs  to  you?" 

"Indeed,  sir,  they  has ;  my  boy,  my  wounded  boy. 
He  has  been  where  I  could  see  him  'once  in  a  while, 
and  now,  without  giving  me  a  hint,  he  has  been 
toted  off,  I  knows  nothing  where,  and  I  want  to  give 
him  some  money.  Why,  the  poor  boy  has  not  a 
cent  of  money,  and  my  pony  has  een-a-most  jist 
gin  out." 


TQ2  IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 

"I  wish  I  could  help  you  out  of  your  trouble. 
You  will  probably  have  to  go  to  Nashville  before 
you  can  see  him.  You  cannot  overtake  the  train." 

"But  my  pony  is  so  little ;  he  isn't  so  good  as  a 
sheep,  to  run,  and  his  wind  is  poor." 

tc  Are  you  a  good  rider,  ma'am  ?  " 

"  I  reckon  not  very ;  could  do  better  when  I  was  a 

gal." 

"If  you  could  ride  my  horse,  you  might  overtake 
the  train  in  half  or  three-quarters  of  an  hour." 

"  Stranger,  I  reckon  you  would  not  let  me  have 
your  horse." 

"Most  certainly,  but  for  the  fear  that  some  acci- 
dent might  befall  you.  Do  you  think  you  would 
dare  to  ride  him?  He  is  very  gentle." 

"  Why,  sir,  it  is  only  a  little  higher  up,  and  a  little 
longer  leap.  I  am  not  afeard,  but  would  like  to  have 
my  saddle.  It  'pears  like  I  am  used  to  that." 

"Well  then,  there  is  no  time  to  lose.  Wait  a 
minute,  till  I  can  help  you  off,  and  we  will  see  if  we 
can  exchange  the  saddles." 

But  she  had  reached  the  ground  before  me,  having 
but  a  few  feet  to  slide.  Her  saddle  was  ungirthed, 
but  we  saw  it  was  of  no  use.  Both  of  us  caught  the 
same  idea  at  the  same  instant.  "  Change  the  girths, 
but  let  the  saddles  remain ! "  It  was  done  in  less 
than  a  miuute,  and  the  little  woman  in  the  black 


IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL.  193 

bombazine  dress,  and  the  Quaker-style  bonnet,  was 
cantering  away  like  some  Mrs.  John  Gilpin.  Hers 
was  a  common  man's  saddle,  but  she  had  ridden  on 
it,  more  or  less,  for  thirty  years  ;  and  though  she  was 
on  a  strange  horse,  she  seemed  to  feel  much  at  home. 
As  I  plodded  on  behind  her  the  last  line  of  a  nursery 
rhyme  kept  ringing  in  my  ears,  - — 

"  And  Gill  came  tumbling  after." 

I  did  not  think  what  I  should  have  to  pay  the  Col- 
onel of  the  38th  Illinois  for  his  horse  the  old  lady  was 
riding  away,  provided  she  did  not  return  it.  My 
situation  seemed  comical,  and  I  could  but  wonder 
what  my  wife  at  home  would  say  if  some  clairvoyant 
had  told  her  he  saw  her  husband  swapping  a  large 
brown  horse,  worth  two  hundred  and  fifty  dollars, 
for  a  little  wind -broken  pony,  of  no  value,  in  the 
woods  near  Lavergne,  Tennessee,  with  a  rebel  woman 
he  had  seen  but  five  minutes,  and  whom  he  might 
never  see  again.  But  I  knew  the  horse  and  rider 
would  return,  if  no  accident  should  befall  them ;  and 
in  less  than  two  hours  I  had  possession  of  my  horse, 
and  she  of  her  pony.  She  had  found  the  ambulance 
and  her  boy,  and  given  him  the  purse  of  gold  and 
silver,  and  was  comforted,  if  not  happy.  It  is  the 
only  horse-trade  I  ever  made  without  being  cheated. 
13 


194.  IN"  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 

In  this  case,  both  parties  were  gamers.  Besides 
enabling  her  to  give  her  boy  some  money  to  take  to 
his  prison  hospital,  both  of  us  had  increased  our  stock 
of  confidence  in  human  nature. 

Just  previous  to  the  battle  of  Williamsburg,  in  the 
spring  of  '62, 1  was  lying  on  a  gun-carriage,  at  Fort- 
ress Monroe,  one  morning,  when  a  little  woman  was 
seen  to  mount  a  pile  of  boxes  close  by,  larger  than  a 
common  haystack,  but  not  more  than  half  as  high. 
It  was  a  novel  sight.  She  knelt  down,  so  as  to 
assume  as  modest  a  position  as  possible,  and  pulled 
over  the  boxes,  one  after  another,  and  occasionally 
passed  one  down  to  a  negro  man,  who  stood  on  the 
ground.  At  length  she  had  handed  down  half  a 
dozen  boxes,  and  a  few  bundles,  or  rather  bags,  and 
that  was  the  last  I  saw  of  her  that  morning.  But 
shortly  the  negro  came  with  an  ambulance  and  took 
the  articles  away.  The  next  time  I  saw  the  party 
they  were  in  the  vicinity  of  Williamsburg,  some  dis- 
tance from  the  river,  hurrying  on  in  the  direction  of 
some  heavy  skirmishing.  They  had  come  to  a  small 
creek  in  a  field  they  were  crossing,  without  any  road, 
and  I  had  the  pleasure  of  lifting  at  the  wheel  and 
helping  them  get  their  ambulance  and  its  contents  on 
the  other  side,  after  which  "all  went  marching  on." 

I  learned  that  she  was  a  wealthy  woman  from 
Philadelphia,  and  that  this  negro  was  her  hired  man ; 


IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 


'95 


that  she  made  occasional  visits  to  the  Army  to  carry 
such  articles  as  she  deemed  most  needful,  while 
she  distributed  and  administered  them  with  her  own 
hands.  I  have  looked  through  a  number  of  books, 
but  have  seen  no  reference  to  her.  Her  name  is 
Bailey,  or  Bailies,  or  one  similar  in  sound.  What 
she  accomplished  by  her  journey  is  unknown  to  me, 
but  it  was  a  sight  most  interesting  as  well  as  novel,  — 
a  woman  of  refinement  and  a  negro  man,  with  a  pair 
of  mules  and  ambulance,  pushing  out  across  fields  and 
creeks  to  reach  a  battle-field. 

But  before  leaving  the  subject,  I  feel  constrained 
to  present  some  pictures  not  so  pleasant. 

If  woman  was  first  at  the  sepulchre,  she  was  also 
conspicuous  in  the  Eden  transaction.  If  the  Dorcases 
and  Marthas  came  to  see  the  soldiers,  so  did  the 
Delilahs  and  Magdalenes.  Every  city  where  the 
Army,  or  any  considerable  portion  of  it,  quartered 
for  any  length  of  time,  swarmed  with  courtesans. 
Every  rendezvous  was  crowded  with  them.  Weak 
men,  who  did  not  drink  up  their  money,  spent  it  on 
bad  women.  Sometimes  they  obtained  passes,  and 
reached  to  the  front.  This  one  had  a  dear  uncle 
there,  and  it  was  necessary  she  should  see  him. 
Courtezans  went  thither  as  the  wives  of  officers, 
and  one  man  winked  at  the  shortcomings  of  his 
neighbor ;  for  he,  too,  lived  in  a  glass  house.  But 


196 


IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 


how  could  they  obtain  passes  ?  There  were  Provost- 
marshals  who  could  be  corrupted  as  easily  as  other 
officers.  There  is  scarcely  any  mischief  that  a  crafty, 
vicious  woman  cannot  accomplish.  Her  power  is 
felt  in  every  walk  of  life  ;  in  a  neighborhood,  in  the 
school,  in  the  sewing-circle,  in  the  church,  and  in 
the  senate.  Could  the  Army  escape  it?  It  did  not. 
Nor  did  Soldiers'  Aid  Societies,  or  the  hospitals. 
Bedding  and  fruit  collected  for  the  sick  were  some- 
times stolen  before  they  left  the  town  where  they 
were  collected,  and  sometimes  even  by  those  who 
collected  them.  If  a  surgeon  ever  misappropriated 
hospital  comforts,  which  I  doubt  not,  most  likely  he 
did  not  enjoy  them  alone  alone,  but  had  the  compan- 
ionship of  some  frail  sister  like  them  who  help  spend 
the  money  of  every  man-thief  in  high  or  low  life. 

Every  soldier  in  the  Army  of  the  Potomac,  in  the 
winter  of '61-2,  remembers  the  Virginia  mud;  and 
not  only  the  mud,  but  the  constant  alternation  of  rain 
and  cold  weather,  not  severe  enough  to  freeze  the 
mud  wholly,  but  just  enough  to  make  a  crust  that 
would  not  bear  the  animals,  and  seldom  the  men. 
With  mud  alone,  the  travelling  was  bad  enough,  but 
with  this  mud-crust  it  was  exceedingly  annoying. 

One  foggy  morning  I  saw  a  stout  woman  ap- 
proaching the  camp.  It  was  not  common  to  see  a 
woman  within  the  lines  ten  miles  from  Washington, 


IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL.  197 

and  it  seemed  very  extraordinary  indeed  that  one 
should  be  wading  through  the  mud-crust  at  an  early 
hour.  But  my  gallantry  being  aroused,  I  went  for- 
ward to  meet  her.  She  was  making  her  way  across 
a  field,  having  left  the  road,  when  I  called  out  to  her 
to  make  a  slight  detour  to  the  right,  to  avoid  a  deep 
slough.  Sometimes  the  crust  would  bear  her  up,  at 
others  she  would  go  down.  Saluting  her  with  "  Your 
servant,  madam,"  I  continued,  "It  is  shocking  travel- 
ling, but  what  brings  you  here — and  on  foot  ?  If  you 
had  waited  till  afternoon,  you  might  have  come  in 
some  of  the  wagons." 

"I  have  a  son  in  some  of  these  regiments,  and  I 
hear  that  he  is  sick.  I  have  come  to  see  him." 

"O,  I  expected  as  much;  nothing  but  sickness  of 
a  son  would  bring  a  woman  here  in  such  travelling, 
I  am  sure.  Please  go  into  one  of  these  tents,  where 
there  is  a  stove,  rest  yourself,  and  dry  your  feet, 
give  me  the  name  of  your  son,  and  I  will  find  him. 
Do  you  know  Avhether  he  is  in  hospital,  or  out  on 
duty?" 

"No ;  I  only  heard  that  he  was  sick,  and  I  could 
not  rest  till  I  came  to  see  how  bad  he  is." 

"Is  he  in  this  regiment?" 

"I  do  not  know ;  but  a  young  man  told  me  that 
he  is  in  one  of  the  regiments  on  this  hill." 

"What  is  his  name?" 


I98  12V  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 

"There  is  where  the  trouble  is.  He  ran  away  and 
enlisted,  and  I  do  not  know  whether  he  gave  the 
right  name  or  not.  His  right  one  is  Thomas 
Sparhawk,  but  I  do  not  know  what  name  he  bears 
here." 

"How  did  you  learn  he  is  here?" 

"I  accidently  met  a  young  man  in  Washington, 
who  told  me  he  saw  him  a  month  ago  in  one  of  the 
field  hospitals  on  this  hill.  But  I  never  thought 
to  ask  whether  he  had  changed  his  name." 

"Please  describe  him." 

I  took  the  description,  and  hunted  for  him  a  day. 
It  was  one  of  the  worst  days  of  that  winter,  and  she 
remained  in  the  tent.  As  my  search  proved  fruit- 
less, I  told  her  to  go  with  me  to  the  nearest  house, 
and  I  would  procure  entertainment  for  the  night,  and 
try  my  luck  next  day.  But  she  did  not  keep  me 
hunting  long  the  second  day,  but  went,  as  I  sup- 
posed, to  hunt  him  up  herself.  A  week  or  two 
afterwards  I  met  her  again,  but  she  did  not  recog- 
nize me  ;  in  fact,  she  gave  me  the  cut  direct.  I  met 
her  once  more,  near  Fall's  Church,  when  she  treated 
me  the  same  as  before. 

I  was  then  satisfied  she  was  a  spy.  She  was 
finally  reported  as  a  suspicious  person,  and  searched, 
when  it  was  found  she  had  papers  from  Lee,  John- 
ston, and  others  ?  Not  at  all ;  but  she  had  a  skirt 


IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 


199 


of  a  pattern  never  seen  out  of  our  Array,  so  con- 
structed with  steel  hoops,  with  one  stout  one  at  the 
waist,  that  she  could  carry  ten  canteens.  These  she 
filled  with  whiskey  at  Washington,  Georgetown,  or 
Alexandria,  as  was  most  convenient,  at  a  cost  of  one 
dollar  a-piece.  Taking  them  to  the  front,  and  ped- 
dling them  slyly  to  the  boys  at  two  dollars  and  a 
half  each,  she  made  fifteen  dollars  on  the  round  trip. 
This  was  the  woman  who  had  set  me  to  hunting  up 
her  son,  and  who  felt  so  badly  that  her  poor  boy 
should  be  so  sick,  and  have  no  mother  to  take  care 
of  him.  Here  was  a  vivandier,  not  described  in 
Prescott  or  Macaulay,  or  even  Abbott's  "Napoleon." 
However  they  may  dress  in  France,  in  America  they 
wear  steel  petticoats. 


200    Brother,  when  will  you  come  back  ? 

By  E.   W.  Locke. 


1.  The     shad  -  ows    of       even-lug  bring   home  to      the  hearth  The 

2.  The     cold  winds  of     win  -  ter  sweep  down  from   the    hills,  With 

3.  There's  ma  -  ny       a     sol  -  dier   lies        si  -  lent      a  -  lone,    Un  - 


loved  ones  who  pa-tient  have  toiled  through  the  day; 
wail  -  ings  more  dis  -  mal  than  ev  -  er  be  -fore; 
cof-fin'd,  uushroud-ed,  be-  neath  the  damp  clay; 


glad     be     the   greet  -  ings,    and    heart   -    y 
think    of       the   blast    that       our       sol    -  dier 


kin  -  drcd  search  vain  -  ly 


-> H- 

the  mirth,  Our 
boy  chills.  And 
or  stone,  Or 


hearts  ev  -  er  turn  to  the 
sigh  to  di  -  vide  him  our 
some  oue  to  tell  where  bis 


Broth  -  er         a  -     way ;    We 

bus    -  ket       and     store.    We 
life      ebbed     a    -     way.  Though 


ask.  Is  he  pac  -  ing  the  sen  -  tl  -  nel's  beat.  In  - 
know  that  but  iit  -  tie  he  heeds  his  hard  lot;  His 
sad  be  the  tid  -  ings  from  fields  red  with  gore,  And 


tent  for  a  sign  of  the  near  lurk  -  Ing  foe?  Or 
long,  wea- ry  march  -  es;  His  coarse,  scan  -  ty  fare;  The 
Death  reaps  a  har  -  vest  of  brave  and  true  men,  Dear 


wearied     with  marching  through  mud,     rain     and     sleet,       He 

camion's    loud    thunder,       the      death  -  deal    -  ing       shot.    But 

Broth  -  er,  stand  firm    till       the       con  -  test        is        o'er,   Then 


lies  in  his  blank  -  et,  his  pil  -  low  the  snow? 
nerve  him  to  suf  -  for,  to  do,  and  to  dare, 
rush  to  the  arms  that  will  clasp  you  a  -  gain. 


201 


Broth-er,       dear    Brother!        when    will     you     come    back  — 


Back     to     the    hearts  cv  -  er         lov-  ing     and  true?  While  your 

1- i> \J  \J L^    •"•[/--       ^J       J- —I 


camp-fires    are     burn-ing       our     fond    hearts    are        yearn -Ing: 

*.        —        **(j  —&  •     •  -0—  ^\ 


Broth-er,  dear    Broth-er!  we're     pray-ing     for    you;  While  your 


camp-fires    are     burD  -    ing,     our     /bud     hearts    are       yearn -in^; 


Broth  -  er,       dear    Broth  -  er,     we're  pray  -    ing      for       you. 


CHAPTER    X. 

CHAPLAINS. 

PROBABLY  there  are  few  ministers  who  woult.  de- 
sire the  berth  of  Army  Chaplain  a  second  time.  At 
the  beginning  of  the  war  there  were  more  applicants 
than  places.  It  was  thought  that  many  of  the 
churches  must  be  closed,  and  the  flocks  scattered,  and 
a  great  number  of  pastors  turned  their  eyes  to  the 
Army  for  .a  field  of  usefulness,  not  from  choice,  but 
as  the  preferable  alternative  to  a  temporary  abandon- 
ment of  the  profession.  I  know  of  no  class  more 
slighted  and  abused  than  they. 

Few  of  them  were  men  of  popular  talents.  There 
are  but  few  of  this  class  in  this  or  any  other  country, 
and  all  of  these  are  appropriated  by  wealthy  congre- 
gations, and  were  the  supply  three  times  as  great, 
no  doubt  the  demand  would  soon  absorb  it.  I  do 
not  mean  that  there  were  but  few  good  preachers 
among  the  Chaplains,  —  every  soldier  knows  better 
than  this, — but  the  Beechers,  Chapins,  Bellows, 
Collyers,  and  Hurrays  were  not  Army  Chaplains, 
(202) 


IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 


203 


and  more  is  the  pity.  "The  children  of  this  world 
are  wiser  than  the  children  of  light."  So  said  the 
Master  eighteen  hundred  years  ago,  and  so  it  is  to- 
day. In  a  political  campaign  the  managers  know  what 
course  to  pursue.  The  first  step  is  to  raise  an  im- 
mense fund  for  mass-meetings.  These  are  appointed 
at  every  convenient  locality,  and  the  most  stirring 
speakers  procured,  to  interest  the  crowds  that  assem- 
ble. It  is  not  expected  that  the  speakers  will  in- 
struct, so  much  as  edify  and  create  enthusiasm.  What 
a  field,  and  what  an  opportunity  for  the  right  kind 
of  preaching  did  the  Army  present !  Had  the  most 
popular  men  gone  there,  and  preached  a  few  months, 
as  they  might,  there  would  have  been  witnessed  such 
gatherings  for  religious  services  as  were  never  seen 
in  this  country.  I  would  not  have  it  inferred  that 
there  were  not  numerous  revivals,  and  that  there 
were  not  many  most  excellent  ministers,  and  many 
glorious  meetings.  Of  course  there  were.  But  still 
there  was  a  great  field  for  usefulness  that  was  shame- 
fully neglected.  The  Army  had  a  large  proportion 
of  men  who  cared  but  little  about  preaching,  simply 
because  it  is  one  of  God's  ordinances  ;  but  had  a  man 
who  has  the  rare  power  of  stirring  the  soul  to  its 
depths  gone  among  them,  and  preached  as  he  might, 
and  as  he  could,  with  such  audiences  and  such  sur- 
roundings, the  men  would  have  gathered  to  hear  him 


204  ^v  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 

by  brigades.  Say  what  we  may  of  the  irreligious 
tendencies  of  the  unconverted,  there  is  no  man  who 
can  draw,  and  continue  to  draw,  the  masses  like  a 
popular -preacher.  His  subjects  are  so  numerous  and 
diverse,  the  field  for  his  illustrations  so  ample,  the 
hearts  of  his  hearers  so  receptive  to  anything  inter- 
esting, that  he  wields  a  power  almost  like  a  monarch 
till  his  light  wanes,  and  his  magnetism  is  lost. 

When  the  Army  lay  in  winter  quarters,  many  min- 
isters visited  it,  and  preached  a  few  sermons ;  but  there 
was  no  organized  effort,  such  as  there  might  have 
been,  to  afford  the  men  at  the  freiit  the  opportunities 
of  the  greatest  of  intellectual  luxuries — sermons  from 
God's  most  gifted  servants.  Not  even  were  they 
treated  to  first-class  lectures,  and  other  amusements, 
except  in  rare  instances. 

The  Chaplain's  duties  are  so  unlike  those  of  any 
other  officer,  there  was  no  common  bond  of  sympa- 
thy for  mutual  attachment.  The  Colonel  can  talk 
with  his  Lieutenant,  Major,  and  .Adjutant,  about 
the  business  of  the  regiment ;  but  the  Chaplain  has 
nothing  to  do  with  it.  He  will  preach,  visit  the 
hospitals  once  or  twice  a  day,  attend  the  funerals, 
furnish  the  boys  with  postage-stamps,  write  letters 
for  those  who  cannot  write  themselves ;  but  if  the 
Colonel  is  a  coarse,  swearing  man,  he  hates  the  sight 


AV  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL.  205 

of  the  Chaplain.  He  cares  not  for  him,  though  he 
is  obliged  to  treat  him  with  passable  respect. 

If,  on  the  other  hand,  the  Colonel  is  a  man  of 
heart- culture,  as  well  as  of  head,  his  Chaplain  will 
be  likely  to  be  his  most  constant  and  preferable  com- 
panion. It  may  be  that  the  commanding  officer  is 
not  technically  a  professor  of  religion,  yet  if  his 
tastes  are  refined,  and  he  have  a  sincere  reverence 
for  holy  things,  he  enjoys  the  company  of  his  Chap- 
lain. The  latter  is  perhaps  full  of  anecdotes,  and  is 
the  liveliest  man  above  the  officers  of  the  line.  I 
remember  instances  where  the  friendship  of  these 
two  officers  seemed  like  that  of  David  and  Jona- 
than. 

Many  of  these  officers  were  so  fettered,  they 
could  do  but  little.  They  had  no  power,  and 
generally  received  small  assistance  in  their  religious 
duties.  Some  attempted  too  much,  while  others  did 
too  little.  One  came  to  an  open  rupture  with  his 
Colonel,  because  he  was  determined  to  make  the 
regiment  repeat  the  Lord's  Prayer  at  dress-parade. 
Every  religious  person  will  concede  that  such  an  act, 
performed  in  the  right  spirit,  would  have  been  most 
impressive.  But  he  who  proposed  it  knew  but  little 
of  human  nature,  or,  at  any  rate,  of  soldier  nature  ; 
and  his  persistence  in  attempting  to  execute  his 


206  fff  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 

plan,  manifested  more  obstinancy  than  good  sense  or 
piety. 

I  became  acquainted  with  one  Chaplain,  whose 
name  I  would  give  but  for  injuring  the  feelings  of 
his  family,  most  of  whom  do  not  approve  of  his 
course,  who  it  seemed  to  me  was  as  true  a  follower 
of  his  Master  as  any  being  with  human  infirmities 
can  well  be.  He  was  indeed  meek  and  lowly  of 
heart,  and  his  meekness  was  not  manifested  by  sanc- 
timonious bearing,  while  he  sought  the  company 
of  the  high,  and  shunned  the  companionship  of  the 
lowly.  He  was  seldom  seen  in  one  of  the  officer's 
tents.  If  they  wished  to  see  him,  they  called  upon 
him  for  that  purpose.  If  you  tapped  at  his  tent, 
and  received  no  answer,  you  might  be  sure  that  he 
would  be  in  soon,  or  that  he  was  down  at  the  hospi- 
tal. If  you  wanted  paper,  envelopes,  or  postage- 
stamps,  he  had  them,  if  any  were  in  the  regiment. 
He  never  asked  your  name  but  once,  and  always 
called  you  by  your  right  one  ever  after,  when  he 
met  you.  He  knew  every  man  in  the  regiment. 
When  a  recruit  came,  he  was  the  first  to  call  on  him. 
lie  was  not  so  forward  to  make  a  convert  of  him 
against  his  will,  as  to  win  his  confidence  and  esteem, 
and  thus,  like  the  olden  law,  serve  as  a  school-master 
to  lead  him  to  Christ.  When  the  regiment  was  on 
the  march,  the  Chaplain  seldom  rode  in  the  place  his 


IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 


207 


rank  entitled  him  to.  He  might  be  there  on  the 
start ;  but  in  the  course  of  a  few  miles  he  would  be 
found  in  the  rear,  with  a  couple  of  knapsacks  at- 
tached to  his  saddle,  and  walking,  while  a  boy,  who 
ought  to  be  in  an  ambulance,  and  would  have  been 
but  for  the  surgeon's  prejudice  and  peevishness  in 
the  morning,  is  mounted  in  his  place. 

If  he  went  to  Washington,  Alexandria,  or  any 
place  where  soldiers  and  officers  were  allowed  to 
make  occasional  visits,  and  found  one  or  more  intox- 
icated, he  never  left  the  unfortunates,  but  clung  to 
them  till  he  could  persuade  them  to  return  to  camp 
with  him.  If  he  found  a  drunken  man  in  the  streets, 
he  took  him  to  a  place  of  safety,  and,  like  the  Good 
Samaritan,  paid  his  bill.  I  could  fill  a  chapter  of 
his  works  of  this  kind,  in  the  Army  and  out,  and 
yet  his  nearest  relatives  would  not  thank  me  for 
thus  making  his  acts  public.  There  is  a  feeling 
in  our  selfish  race  that  such  conduct  is  just  a  little 
silly.  Women,  who  arc  proud  that  their  husbands 
made  a  fortune  in  shoddy-clothing,  would-be  ashamed 
if  their  partners  were  such  Christians  as  this  Chap- 
lain. 

This  man  managed  to  learn  who  gambled  and  who 
drank,  and  he  was  so  shrewd  that  he  could  always 
find  an  opportunity  to  give  good  advice  when  alone 
with  the  party  that  needed  it.  He  was  quite  a  geolo- 


208  IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 

gist,  and  once  in  a  while  took  tramps  over  the  hills 
after  specimens,  and  if  he  had  anything  special  to 
say  to  any  boy,  he  invited  the  delinquent  to  accom- 
pany him. 

When  speaking  of  this  man  to  others,  many  have 
inquired,  "Why  did  we  not  have  more  of  them?" 
For  the  best  of  reasons  —  a  few  appointments  would 
exhaust  the  supply.  "Well,"  they  continue,  "why 
do  not  more  such  men  go  into  the  ministry?"  For 
a  good  reason — the  people  do  not  want  them.  This 
man  was  not  a  popular  pastor.  He  was  always  doing 
something  that  displeased  some  of  the  fault-seekers. 
Most  people  want  a  minister  to  be  proud  of.  The 
largest  church,  the  tallest  steeple,  the  most  popular 
minister,  the  most  fashionable  singing,  the  best 
dressed  congregations ;  these  are  what  the  people 
want,  and  what  they  will  have,  if  they  can  obtain 
them.  I  have  related  scarcely  anything  second- 
hand ;  but  a  gentleman  now  settled  over  one  of  the 
Baptist  churches  near  Boston,  informed  me  that  ho 
watched  a  chaplain  who  had  just  entered  upon  his 
duties  near  Norfolk,  Virginia,  who  tried  a  full  half 
hour  to  saddle  his  horse.  He  actually  did  not  know 
which  was  front  and  which  rear,  and  my  informant 
was  obliged,  after  pretending  for  half  an  hour  to  bo 
asleep,  while  he  was  really  ready  to  burst  with 
laughter,  to  go  and  place  the  saddle  upon  the  beast, 


/2V   CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 


309 


and  assist  the  poor  man  to  mount.  Possibly  this 
man  made  a  good  chaplain,  but  the  chances  against 
him  are  ten  to  one.  Men  who  know  only  books 
may  get  on  passably  at  home,  but  they  could  do  no 
good  in  the  Army. 

.  Some  of  these  men  were  very  efficient  laborers  for 
the  cause  of  temperance,  and  many  a  wife  and  mother 
have  reason  to  bless  them  as  long  as  they  live ;  for  it 
was  through  their  efforts  that  their  loved  ones  were 
saved  from  the  pit  of  drunkenness. 

There  were  soine  who  thought  themselves  so  elo- 
quent and  entertaining,  that  they  seldom  invited 
others  to  preach  for  them,  but  generally  a  visiting 
brother  was  pressed  into  the  service  immediately. 
Sometimes  men  who  were  not  clergymen,  but  accus- 
tomed to  public  speaking,  were  invited  to  occupy  the 
time  of  the  sermon.  A  gentleman  from  Maine,  well 
known  in  the  Army,  was  present  one  Sabbath  near 
Brandy  Station,  in  the  spring  of  '04,  at  a  Sabbath  ser- 
vice, and  was  invited  to  address  the  men.  Having 
been  present,  I  am  enabled  to  give  the  substance  of 
the  address : 

"  Soldiers  :  —  Your  chaplain  has  kindly  consented 
to  give  me  the  time  for  the  sermon  this  morning.  It 
is  a  courtesy  for  which  I  hope  I  am  suitably  grate- 
ful. But  at  the  same  time  the  question  comes  up, 
can  I  so  speak  as  to  satisfy  him,  you,  and  my  own 


2io  IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 

conscience?  Not  being  a  clergyman,  you  will  not 
expect  me  to  take  a  text  and  deliver  a  sermon,  but  I 
should  be  ashamed  to  be  found  standing  in  this  neat 
chapel,  on  this  holy  day,  occupying  the  time  of  one 
of  God's  servants,  with  nothing  of  importance  to  say. 

"Having  been  with  this  Army  from  the  first,  min- 
gled much  more  with  the  common  soldiers  than 
the  officers,  slept  and  taken  my  meals  mostly  in 
their  tents,  I  think  I  know  something  of  the  feelings 
of  this  great  class  of  the  Army.  And  my  address, 
at  this  time,  will  touch  upon  some  points  frequently 
discussed  among  yourselves,  and  which  serve  more 
than  anything  to  make  you  discontented  with  your 
lot. 

"  It  seems  unjust  to  some  of  you  that  young  men 
should  be  taken  exclusively  for  soldiers,  instead  of 
the  young  and  old  together.  You  ask  is  not  life 
as  sweet  to  the  young  as  to  the  old?  Should  not 
both  share  the  perils  of  defending  the  country 
equally,  when  both  have  an  equal  interest?  The  man 
of  fifty  can  do  as  much  labor  in  the  field,  at  the 
forge,  or  bench,  as  one  of  twenty-five.  He  has  more 
experience,  and  knows  better  how  to  preserve  health, 
aiid  would  be  likely  to  shun  most  of  the  follies  and 
vices  to  which  young  men  are  liable  ;  and  why  should 
he  be  exempt  from  military  service  ? 

"In  attempting  to  answer  these  queries,  I  will  ask 


IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL.  21 1 

you  to  remember  that  inasmuch  as  among  all  nations, 
in  all  ages,  most  of  the  warriors  have  been  young 
men,  it  is  presumable  that  there  are  good  reasons 
for  this  arrangement. 

"In  the  first  place,  young  men  are  more  willing  to 
enlist  than  old  ones.  By  the  time  a  boy  is  eighteen, 
if  he  is  in  good  health,  his  blood  begins  to  be  fever- 
ish. His  native  hills  look  tame,  the  streets  of  his 
village  are  dull.  He  has  read  of  other  places,  and 
his  imagination  makes  them  a  paradise.  He  has 
read  of  Leonidas,  of  Napoleon,. and  of  Washington,  of 
the  Spartan,  the  French,  and  the  American  common 
soldier,  and  he  is  desirous  of  distinguishing  himself, 
and  winning  glory  in  battle  as  well  others.  He  sees 
nothing  of  poor  fare,  exhausting  labors  in  the  trenches 
and  on  the  fortifications  ;  nothing  of  marching  in  the 
hot  sun,  sleeping  in  the  mud  and  snow ;  nothing 
of  the  sickness,  sufferings,  and  hardships  of  camp 
life;  but  everything  in  his  eyes  is  glorious, — 
the  inspiring  music,  the  serried  hosts  in  battle- 
line,  the  roaring  cannon,  the  musket  volleys,  the 
wild  scream  of  the  charging  hosts,  the  shouts  of 
the  victors,  all  these,  and  more,  rise  before  his 
imagination,  and  make  him  ready  to  become  a 
soldier.  And  then,  the  hope  of  promotion.  What 
so  fascinating  to  many  men  as  the  hope  to  be  able 
some  day  to  ride  at  the  head  of  a  column  of  armed 


212  IN   CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 

warriors,  each  man  but  an  instrument  to  do  your 
bidding  ? 

"  The  youuig  man  of  spirit  thinks  there  is  some- 
thing better  than  anything  he  has  seen.  Talk  to 
him  in  his  New  England  home  of  the  Western  prairie, 
and  he  sees  it  covered  with  richest  verdure,  and  the 
most  beautiful  flowers.  It  can  be  cultivated  with 
just  enough  of  labor  for  pleasurable  excitement,  and 
he  has  but  to  go  thither,  appropriate  as  much  as  he 
chooses,  and  in  a  few  years  become  one  of  the  lords 
of  the  West.  Not  so  with  him  of  forty  and  upwards. 
He  sees  no  poetry  in  war.  He  can  go  to  the  field  if 
necessary.  He  loves  the  flag  more,  if  possible,  than 
the  young  man,  for  he  knows  better  the  value  of  free 
institutions.  But  it  is  a  duty  he  would  evade  if  he 
could  do  it  in  honor.  He  knows  what  war  is,  as 
you,  my  boys,  who  have  been  here  long  have  learned, 
and  that  is,  that  to  a  person  of  right  feelings,  most  of 
its  features  are  abhorrent.  Hanging  out  a  flag  at  the 
recruiting  quarters,  sending  a  squad  with  fife  and 
drum  through  the  streets  in  a  pleasant  evening, 
promises  of  but  little  to  do,  a  jolly  time,  the  privi- 
lege of  seeing  the  world,  and  a  chance  for  promotion, 
do  not  captivate  him.  His  blood  is  sluggish,  his 
nerves  fail  to  thrill,  and  he  is  Milling  for  others  to 
take  his  place. 

"Again  :  Woman,  in  consideration  of  the  hardships 


IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL.  213 

and  duties  peculiar  to  the  sex,  are  exempt  from  mili- 
tary duty.  Men  at  forty-five  years  of  age,  in  con- 
sideration of  what  they  may  be  supposed  to  have 
done  for  the  country  in  twenty-five  years,  are  also 
exempt.  They  have  stood  their  chances  for  a  long 
time  to  do  a  share  of  the  fighting  for  their  country, 
and  is  there  any  injustice  in  giving  them  exemption 
now?  In  the  Revolution,  our  great-grandfathers 
stood  their  turn,  in  the  war  of  '12  our  grandfathers 
took  theirs,  in  the  Mexican  war  our  fathers  theirs, 
and  are  we  such  cowards  that  we  shrink  from  our 
lot?  Can  it  be  possible  that  any  one  is  so  unmanly 
as  to  whine  because  he  is  called  upon  to  stand  in 
places  once  occupied  by  the  heroes  of  Lexington  and 
Bunker  Hill?  O,  who  is  so  mean  that  he  is  not 
proud  that  he  is  accounted  worthy  to'  stand  in  the 
places  of  the  honored  dead  patriots  of  our  land  ! 

"  O,  soldiers  :  I  have  seen  men  attempt  to  deceive 
the  examining  surgeon,  and  make  him  believe  they 
had  some  disqualifying  physical  weakness.  I  have 
known  some  men  to  maim  themselves  to  escape  a 
draft ;  but  can  you  conceive  of  a  meaner  creature  in 
the  human  form?  Call  him  a  man,  who  will  not  de- 
fend his  own?  Why,  a  goose  will  do  as  much  as 
that.  Call  him  a  man,  who  is  willing  that  others 
shall  fight  for  his  rights,  while  he  shrinks  away  out 
of  danger?  O,  his  blood  must  be  whiter  than  milk, 


214  IN  CAMP  AND  SO  SPIT AL. 

and  he  should  be  aproned,  furnished  with  a  whistle 
and  a  rattle,  instead  of  soldiers'  weapons,  and  sent 
to  the  nursery  to  sing  simple  rhymes  to  the  children. 
"Another  consideration  :  In  war,  a  great  amount 
of  money  is  needed,  as  well  as  men.  This,  as  a  gen- 
eral rule,  is  held  by  the  elderly  men.  It  represents 
their  sweat  and  their  toil.  Next  to  their  lives,  and 
the  lives  of  their  families,  this  is  the  dearest  of  all 
things.  Though  I  hope  I  may  except  principle  in 
some  instances.  You  peril  your  life  with  more  than 
an  even  chance  that  it  will  be  spared,  while  he  parts 
with  his  money,  knowing  that  it  is  gone  forever. 
Many  an  old  man,  who  loves  his  money  like  a  miser, 
would  gladly  take  your  place  in  the  ranks,  if  he  could 
keep  his  property.  The  news  of  a  victory  sometimes 
makes  him  generous  for  a  few  minutes ;  but,  as  he 
sees  his  taxes  accumulating,  and  his  profits  diminish- 
ing, he  is  apt  to  grow  disheartened  and  misanthropic. 
I  think,  my  boys,  hard  as  you  sometimes  think  your 
lot  is,  you  would  a  thousand  times  rather  be  a  young 
soldier  for  a  few  years,  than  an  old  man,  constantly 
growing  older,  were  you  ever  so  rich.  Do  not  mur- 
mur, I  beseech  you,  that  the  fighting  has  to  be  done 
by  young  men.  Let  the  old  men  but  know  that  by 
taking  your  places  they  could  have  your  lithe  limbs, 
your  sparkling  eyes,  your  ruddy  cheeks,  your  buoy- 


CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 


215 


ant  spirits,  your  warm  blood,  and  you  would  not  have 
to  wait  for  a  substitute. 

"One  of  the  hard  facts  that  often  come  up  to  stare 
the  common  soldier  in  the  face,  and  make  him  dis- 
satisfied with  his  lot,  is  the  disparity  of  pay  between 
officers  and  men.  Sixteen  dollars  a  month  for  a 
private,  and  a  hundred  and  thirty,  forty,  or  fifty,  for 
a  Captain,  strikes  many  a  soldier  as  so  manifestly 
unjust  that  he  sometimes  feels  like  turning  his  back 
on  a  country  that  can  make  such  a  distinction.  But, 
my  boys,  you  cannot  expect  the  Army  to  be  gov- 
erned by  different  principles  from  those  that  obtain 
in  civil  life  the  world  over.  The  higher  the  position 
the  greater  the  pay.  The  President  has  twenty-five 
thousand  dollars  a  year;  the  Vice-President  about 
one  fifth  as  much ;  lawyers  charge  from  ten  dollars 
to  ten  thousand  for  making  a  plea ;  a  popular  clergy- 
man has  five  thousand  dollars  or  more  for  his  yearly 
salary ;  a  physician,  who  can  make  forty  calls  in  a 
day,  charges  two  dollars  each ;  a  successful  mer- 
chant thinks  he  is  doing  but  a  small  business  if  his 
profits  are  not  ten  thousand  a  year ;  a  successful  public 
lecturer,  or  reader,  receives  two  hundred  dollars  for 
less  than  two  hours'  service ;  and  yet  the  toiling 
masses  are  paid  for  their  daily  service  scarcely  more 
than  enough  to  meet  necessary  expenses.  Not. till 
the  world  has  advanced  more  than  it  has  from  the 


2i6  IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 

earliest  history  of  the  human  race,  will  right  pre- 
vail over  might.  Power,  enterprise,  knowledge, 
skill,  appropriate  the  lion's  share. 

"But,  soldiers,  good  and  evil  frequently  go  hand- 
in-hand  ;  and  this  enhanced  pay,  of  a  higher  grade, 
serves  as  an  incentive  to  strive  for  a  higher  position. 
A  young  man  who  has  no  ambition  to  rise  is  in  a 
dangerous  and  pitiable  position.  Many  a  man  is 
now  within  a  prison  simply  because  he  was  without 
ambition.  A  worthless  companion,  a  low,  grovelling 
man,  was  just  as  good  an  associate  for  him  as  one 
with  higher  tastes.  Whether  at  home,  or  in  the 
Army,  a  man  who  strives  not  to  rise,  lacks  true 
nobility.  There  is  the  lead  of  his  baser  qualities 
always  weighing  him  down,  and  without  ambition 
to  rise,  what  hope  is  there  for  him?' 

"My  boys,  you  cannot  all  be  Captains,  or  Lieuten- 
ants ;  but  I  believe  that  a  man  with  average  capacity 
can  hardly  be  in  our  service  three  years  without 
rising  above  the  ranks,  if  he  is  willing  to  qualify 
himself  by  application.  I  know  men  who  have 
spent  time  enough  in  saloons  and  other  places  of 
resort  to  have  mastered  any  common  trade,  or  to 
have  fitted  themselves  for  college.  And  yet  these 
same  men  complain  because  others  are  above  them, 
and  draw  twice,  three,  or  five  times  their  pay.  You 
will  not  live  to  see  this  earth  a  Paradise,  and  even 


IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL.  217 

if  you  should,  you  might  not  find  all  men  paid 
equally  for  an  equal  amount  of  labor.  But  it  will 
be  wise  to  take  such  measures  as  will  insure  the 
largest  possible  share  of  the  comforts  of  life. 
Money  properly  used,  next  to  health,  is  one  of  the 
greatest  of  earthly  blessings  ;  and  if  for  nothing  else, 
I  urge  you  to  qualify  yourselves  for  promotion. 

"Do  you  say,  'There  is  no  time'?  Do  you  give 
no  time  to  cards  ?  Are  you  ever  seen  sitting  like  a 
turtle  on  a  log,  your  minds  a  vacuum  ?  Do  you  say, 
'O,  there  will  be  no  chance  for  promotion  !  Some- 
body's father  is  rich,  mine  is  poor!  Others  have 
friends,  and  I  have  none '  ?  If  you  are  determined  to 
find  some  excuse  for  your  lack  of  exertion,  you  de- 
serve to  remain  as  you  are,  and  you  always  will. 
The  country  wants  live  men,  and  it  is  willing  to  pay 
for  them.  If  you  prefer  to  be  a  common  soldier,  it 
will  continue  to  pay  you  sixteen  dollars  a  month. 
But  it  pays  the  Sergeants,  the  Lieutenants,  the 
Captains,  and  all  the  others  much  more  than  you,  in 
the  hope  that  you  will  soon  develop  into  a  higher 
grade,  and  receive  more  pay.  It  will  pay  you  a 
hundred  dollars  a  month  as  cheerfully  as  it  now  pays 
sixteen. 

"Once  more  :  Another  burden,  that  sometimes  cuts 
you  like  an  iron,  is  the  distinction  between  officers 
and  men.  But  this  is  inevitable.  Every  order,  from 


2l8  IN   CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 

the  Colonel's  'Forward,  battalion,'  the  Drill-Ser- 
geant's 'Mark  time,'  are  to  be  implicitly  obeyed. 
Selfish  and  bad  passioned  men  will  be  found  among 
officers,  as  well  as  privates ;  and  when  a  bad  man 
gets  into  the  position  of  an  officer,  it  requires  but  a 
short  time  to  bring  out  his  qualities  ;  a  commission  - 
draws  them,  like  a  plaster,  to  the  surface.  He  shows 
them  when  he  least  expects  to,  and,  inasmuch  as  you 
cannot  return  his  insults  in  kind,  and  as  he  is  so 
much  nearer  the  throne  than  yourself,  that  there  is 
little  hope  for  redress,  you  feel  that  there  is  noth- 
ing to  do  but  nurse  your  hatred. 

"This  is  a  poor  course.  A  soldier  who  is  moody 
over  his  wrongs  will  not  be  worth  much  in  the  ranks. 
When  called  for  any  duty,  he  is  sullen,  moves 
slowly,  makes  his  officer  lose  his  patience  and  chide 
him ;  is  a  bad  companion,  but  little  more  agreeable 
than  a  howling  dog ;  his  tent-mates  loathe  him,  and, 
if  stricken  in  battle,  no  one  in  his  company  mourns 
his  loss. 

"  But,  in  no  walk,  whether  in  army  or  civil  life,  can 
you  escape  the  rudeness  and  ungentlemanly  bearing 
of  superiors.  When  you  become  a  Sergeant,  you 
find  the  Lieutenants  looking  down  upon  you ;  a  Lieu- 
tenant, and  the  Captain  thinks  his  two  straps  entitle 
him  to  assume  superiority ;  a  Captain,  and  then  your 
Colonel,  is  the  man  whom  you  are  to  fear  most;  a 


IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 


219 


Colonel,  and  you  have  to  meet  the  criticism  of  a 
Brigadier.  If  you  go  to  dress-parade  with  thin 
ranks,  if  any  of  your  men  are  without  gloves  or  pol- 
ished boots ;  if  your  battalion  makes  the  least  mis- 
take in  evolution,  likely  you  are  treated  to  a  volley 
of  curses,  in  presence  of  five  hundred  men  and 
officers,  till  you  are  angry  enough  to  strike  the  in- 
sulting man  from  his  horse,  were  it  not  for  the  fear 
of  consequences ;  a  Brigadier,  and  the  corps  or  divis- 
ion commander  abuses  you ;  a  Corps-commander,  and 
the  Chief  abuses  you,  perhaps  when  you  are  in  the 
right ;  a  Commander-in-chief,  and  for  a  grave  mistake 
you  are  dismissed  in  disgrace. 

"  And  what  better  is  it  in  civil  life  ?  You  are  ever 
encountering  uncivil  superiors.  The  neighbor  who 
lives  in  a  better  house,  and  has  a  carriage,  while  you 
have  none  ;  who  follows  a  better-paying  and  a  more 
genteel  business,  is  sometimes  insulting  to  you ;  or, 
if  he  is  not,  his  children  will  insult  your  little  brothers 
and  sisters,  and  his  wife  put  on  airs  ;  the  man  whom 
you  vote  into  office  forgets  you  after  election-day, 
and  so  it  is,  the  world  over.  Your  only  sure  course 
is  to  try  to  rise,  and,  having  risen,  see  that  power  and 
position  do  not  destroy  your  manhood. 

"Your  chaplain  often  urges  you,  no  doubt,  to  be- 
come soldiers  of  the  cross.  I,  also,  urge  you  to  en- 
list under  the  Great  Captain,  the  only  one  you  can 


220  IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 

serve  who  will  never  give  you  treatment  you 
do  not  deserve.  But  you  should  remember,  that 
merely  professing  religion  is  not  taking  up  the 
cross.  There  are  those,  I.  am  sorry  to  say,  who 
make  a  profession  merely  to  be  on  the  popular 
sicle.  This  is  no  cross  to  them.  There  are  those 
who  make  their  boasts  that  they  belong  to  this  or 
that  popular  church.  There  are  those  who  think 
they  take  up  the  cross  by  advocating  religion  in  pub- 
lic. They  cannot  do  it  acceptably,  but  do  not  know 
it.  Taking  up  the  cross,  for  them,  would  consist  in 
keeping  still.  You  who  profess  to  love  the  cause  of 
Christ  must  not  feel  that  you  are  soldiers  of  the  cross 
because  you  have  experienced  religion  and  been  re- 
ceived into  the  church  ;  but  if  you  have  those  trou- 
bles to  which  I  have  alluded,  you  must  gather  up 
your  strength,  lift  the  cross  upon  your  shoulder,  and, 
if  you  have  really  the  spirit  of  the  Great  Captain, 
you  will  glory  in  bearing  it. 

"Soldiers :  do  you  not  remember  that,  when  in 
battle,  after  the  first  shudder  passed  away,  some- 
thing seemed  to  lift  you  out  of  your  normal  condi- 
tion ;  that  your  life  seemed  valueless,  and  that  you 
could  die  as  readily  as  to  return  to  your  tents  ?  In- 
sulting, harsh,  incisive  words  from  those  more  favor- 
ably circumstanced,  neglect  and  want  of  sympathy 
by  those  from  whom  we  deserve  the  greatest  of  kind- 


IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL.  22I 

ness,  are  hard  to  bear ;  but  we  can  so  discipline  our- 
selves, if  we  are  true  soldiers  of  the  cross,  that  we 
can  rise  so  far  above  them  as  to  make  them  seem  but 
trifles.  Worthless  is  our  coat  of  mail,  if  such  tri- 
fles can  penetrate  it. 

"I  fancy  that  I  see  before  me  a  true  soldier.  I  can- 
not tell  whether  he  is  yet  in  the  ranks,  or  has  been 
promoted.  At  the  first  stroke  of  the  reveille  he  is 
out  of  his  tent,  his  toilet  made,  his  breakfast  pre- 
pared and  eaten,  ready  for  any  duty,  with  a  pleasant 
'good  morning'  for  every  one  he  meets,  congratu- 
lating this  one  on  his  return  from  hospital,  that 
one  from  prison,  and  a  third  for  his  promotion. 
When  he  salutes  superiors,  he  does  it  with  grace 
and  cheerfulness,  showing  that  while  he  is  proud  of 
his  own  position,  he  is  willing  to  give  honor  to  others. 
To  his  inferiors,  he  is  kind,  but  dignified,  careful 
that  no  word  that  can  wound  shall  escape  his  lips. 
He  never  grumbles  that  his  turn  for  distasteful  du- 
ties comes  too  often.  If  a  tent-mate  is  a  little  un- 
well, he  is  a  ready  substitute.  If  there  are  dangers 
to  be  encountered,  he  never  flinches.  His  presence 
is  like  sunshine.  A  merry  laugh,  an  enlivening 
story,  a  stingless  joke,  a  willingness  to  do  even  more 
than  his  duty,  make  him  a  treasure.  He  is  marked 
for  promotion.  Eising  one  step  prepares  him  for 
another ;  and  with  proper  application,  and  escape  from 


222  Df  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 

sickness  and  death,  there  are  few  positions  that  he 
may  not  attain. 

w  A  true  soldier  is  never  heard  sighing  for  the  term 
of  his  enlistment  to  expire.  He  loves  his  home,  and 
would  start  for  it  with  a  bounding  heart  could  he  go 
in  duty ;  but  duty  to  him  is  more  than  home  or  life. 
He  is  in  the  field  for  service,  and  nothing  can  make 
him  neglect  it,  and  he  will  give  place  to  no  feeling 
that  shall  make  that  service  irksome : 


'In  the  world's  broad  field  of  battle, 
In  the  bivouac  of  life, 
Be  not  like  dumb,  driven  cattle, 
Be  a  hero  in  the  strife. 


' '  Lives  of  great  men  all  remind  us 
We  can  make  our  lives  sublime, 
And  departing  leave  behind  us 
Footprints  on  the  shores  of  time ; 

: '  Footprints  that,  perhaps  another 
Sailing  o'er  life's  solemn  main, 
A  forlorn  and  shipwrecked  brother 
Seeing,  shall  take  heart  again  I 


IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 


223 

'Let  us  then  be  up  and  doing, 
With  a  heart  for  any  fate  ; 
Still  achieving,  still  pursuing, 
Learn  to  labor  and  to  wait."' 


In  the  winter  of  '64,  near  the  Eapidan,  a  chaplain 
of  one  of  the  New  York  State  Regiments  received  a 
letter  from  a  young  woman  with  whom  he  had  a  slight 
acquaintance,  asking  his  advice  about  attempting  to 
find  two  letters  that  her  husband  had  sent  home,  con- 
taining, in  all,  some  fifty  dollars.  She  was  destitute, 
and  thought  he  might  be  able  to  find  the  letters, 
if  any  one  could.  But  as  soon  as  he  read  the  epistle 
he  knew  where  the  money  went.  Her  husband  and 
one  of  his  tent-mates  were  two  of  the  most  inveterate 
gamblers  in  the  regiment.  He  answered  the  letter, 
telling  the  sorrowing  wife  that  he  would  do  what 
he  could.  He  first  went  to  the  husband  and  told 
him  plainly,  but  kindly,  that  he  had  lost  the  money, 
and  then  wrote  his  wife  the  lie  to  prevent  her  from 
thinking  him  a  heartless  brute.  He  denied  it,  and 
was  angry,  accusing  the  kind  man  of  being  a  busy- 
body, asserting  that  few  in  the  regiment  were  his 
friends,  and  threatening  if  he  did  not  attend  entirely 
to  his  own  business  he  would  suffer  for  it. 

A  mouth  or  less  after  this  the  Chaplain,  on  going  t« 


224 


IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 


look  at  his  horse  one  morning,  found  some  miscreant 
had  removed  nearly  all  the  hair  from  the  poor  beast's 
tail.  The  whole  regiment  was  indignant,  and  few 
but  the  owner  had  any  suspicion  of  any  one.  He 
felt  sure  that  he  knew  the  wrong-doer,  but  knowing 
it  would  be  impossible  to  prove  it,  he  disclosed  his 
thoughts  to  no  one.  The  officers  made  up  a  gift 
sufficient  to  buy  another,  but  he  declined  it,  saying 
that  the  man  who  could  do  such  a  deed  once  would 
not  scruple  to  do  it  again.  In  a  short  time  the 
tent-mate  of  the  suspected  one  died ;  the  Chaplain 
attended  the  funeral,  and  so  loving  and  touching 
were  his  words  that  the  man  who  had  been  so  rude 
to  him  when  reproved  for  gambling,  wept  like  a  child. 
Pay-day  coming  shortly  after,  the  Chaplain  was  sur- 
prised to  find  fifty  dollars  enclosed  in  an  envelope, 
in  his  tent.  There  was  no  letter  accompanying  the 
money,  but  simply  a  scrap  of  paper  with  these  words, 
"  From  the  man  who  sheered  your  horse." 

This  money  was  forwarded  by  the  Chaplain  to  the 
woman  who  had  written  the  letter,  with  the  request 
that  she  should  say  nothing  about  it,  till  she  should 
hear  from  him  again.  The  wife  could  not  keep  the 
secret.  She  wrote  to  her  husband,  and  told  him  that 
the  Chaplain  had  found  the  missing  money,  requesting 
him  not  to  mention  it  until  she  heard  from  the  dear 
man  again.  The  man  saw  that  he  was  known,  «nd 


IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL.  325 

taking  the  first  opportunity,  made  confession,  and 
begged  the  good  man's  pardon.  Nor  was  this  all :  he 
became  converted,  and  was  a  most  exemplary  man 
the  remainder  of  the  service.  But  he  did  not  escape 
the  odium  of  his  misconduct.  The  whole  affair 
became  known  in  camp,  and  to  the  last  he  was  called 
the  horse-tail  convert.  Spending  an  evening  in  this 
Chaplain's  tent,  I  said,  "I  suppose  if  you  are  spared 
to  go  home  at  the  end  of  the  war,  you  will  continue 
in  the  ministry  the  same  as  before  you  came  to  this 
field  of  labor?" 

"  I  shall  continue  to  work  in  my  Master's  service, 
but  not  as  before  the  war.  I  am  not  fitted  for  a 
pastor.  There  is  something  inexpressibly  beautiful 
in  the  relation  which  a  good  man  bears  as  a  pastor  to 
his  people  ;  no  wonder  he  is  likened  to  a  shepherd. 
Human  nature  is  such,  that  the  pastoral  relation  is  a 
necessity.  Men  and  women,  in  any  affliction,  want 
some  one  to  fly  to,  and  to  whom  may  they  go  for 
sympathy  like  the  faithful.minister?  But  much  as  I 
nonor  the  position,  I  shall  never  be  a  pastor  again. 
I  never  occupied  one  field  of  labor  long.  My  ser- 
mons were  always  acceptable,  but  I  have  peculiari- 
ties of  organization  which  make  me  unacceptable. 
One  is  my  faithfulness  in  telling  those  near  me  their 
hurtful  faults,  while  I  request  them  to  do  the  same  by 
me.  But  scarcely  anything  is  so  delicate.  You 


226  IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 

may  praise  mankind  as  long  as  you  please,  and  if  they 
know  that  the  praise  is  unmerited,  they  love  to  hear 
it,  but  the  mildest  censure,  though  the  faults  be  glar- 
ing, is  dangerous  to  administer.  I  lost  three  pastor- 
ates where  it  seemed  that  nothing  but  a  matter  of 
the  gravest  magnitude  could  disturb  our  relations, 
by  trifles  that  seem  too  insignificant  to  relate. 

"  Losing  my  wife  a  year  before  the  beginning  of  the 
war,  I  went  to  board  with  the  most  influential  family 
of  my  church.  I  had  noticed  that  the  sister,  who 
was  mistress  of  the  house,  was  always  late  at 
morning  church  service ;  her  husband  and  children 
came  early,  but  she  never  till  the  Scripture  lesson 
was  nearly  or  quite  through.  It  seemed  very  strange, 
but  I  did  not  think  it  worth  while  to  make  any  re- 
marks. By  accident  I  made  the  discovery  that  she 
remained  at  home  to  watch  the  people  who  went  to 
church,  and  particularly  the  women.  Residing  on 
the  principal  thoroughfare  of  the  city,  and  near  a 
number  of  churches,  she^had  but  to  take  her  seat  at 
the  window,  having  previously  closed  the  blind,  and 
peek  between  the  slats,  and  she  could  see  how  a  thou- 
sand females  were  dressed.  She  knew  when  any 
woman  had  a  new  bonnet,  dress,  or  shawl,  and  dress 
was  her  hobby.  She  sometimes  came  to  the  com- 
munion service,  and  the  preparatory  lecture,  in  such 
expensive  and  showy  garments,  that  her  presence 


IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL.  22» 

destroyed  all  my  good  feelings.  When  I  have 
looked  upon  her  thus  dressed,  I  have  felt  that  she 
was  a  lump  of  vanity,  and  that,  though  from  her 
husband's  property,  she  was  one  of  the  most  influen- 
tial members  of  my  church,  she  had  no  right  to  a 
seat  at  the  table  of  our  lowly  Master.  After  discov- 
ering her  habits,  I  took  occasion  to  administer  a 
gentle  reproof.  I  could  not  do  less.  And  how  do 
you  think  she  received  it?  Her  eyes  flashed,  her 
lips  were  compressed,  her  face  reddened,  but  her 
.only  reply  was,  ' If  you  will  give  your  attention  to 
your  sermons  rather  than  minding  what  does  not  con- 
cern you,  I  think  it  will  be  for  the  interest  of  both 
yourself  and  the  parish.'  From  that  moment  I  was 
a  doomed  pastor.  The  prayer-meetings  lost  their 
interest,  teachers  in  the  Sunday-school  gave  up  their 
classes,  the  congregation  began  to  diminish,  the 
elders  became  uneasy  and  dissatisfied ;  the  climax, 
which  was  dismission,  was  soon  reached.  I  am  a 
Chaplain  in  the  Army,  in  consequence  of  a  gentle 
reproof  to  that  peeking  woman. 

"I  shall  never  be  a  pastor  again.  If  I  am  spared 
to  return  to  civil  life,  I  shall  preach  the  Gospel  to 
the  poor.  And  do  they  not  need  it  ?  Think  of  what 
it  costs  annually  for  a  seat  in  a  moderately  fashion- 
able church.  From  ten  to  twenty-five  dollars. .  Why, 
a  man  with  a  wife  and  three  children  needs  more  pay 


228  IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 

than  an  ordinary  mechanic  or  laboring  man  can  get, 
to  pay  this  and  support  his  family.  Not  half  the 
people  of  any  city  I  was  ever  in  attend  church  regu- 
larly. I  grant  there  are  many  who  have  no  desire 
to  go,  yet  there  are  a  great  many  who  might  be  in- 
duced to  honor  God's  day  and  ordinances  if  it  did 
not  cost  so  much. 

"Henceforth  I  shall  collect  no  money  for  foreign 
missions.  Not  that  my  heart  does  not  yearn  for 
those  who  have  never  heard  the  blessed  Gospel  of 
the  Son  of  God ;  but  I  shall  concentrate  my  efforts 
on  Home  Missions.  When  I  think  that  New  York 
is  probably  as  wicked  a  city,  according  to  popula- 
tion, as  there  is  in  the  world ;  when  I  think  there 
are  in  that  city  alone  upwards  of  ten  thousand  prof- 
ligate women,  and  yet  there  is  little  or  no  effort 
made  to  reclaim  them ;  when  I  think  that  sixty 
thousand  druimards  die  in  our  country  annually,  and 
yet  the  leading  people  in  the  church,  as  well  as  out, 
make  no  earnest,  persistent,  self-sacrificing  effort  to 
save  them  ;  when  I  think  that  when  a  person  comes 
from  prison,  or  a  youth  is  found  guilty  of  a  crime, 
few  come  forward  to  befriend  and  aid  the  unfortu- 
nate wrong-doer,  I  am  amazed,  and  ask  if  others 
have  learned  Christ  as  J  have,  I  read  that  the  Good 
Samaritan  is  the  higher  type  of  a  Christian.  In 


IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL.  229 

prison,  and  ye  came  unto  me;  this  is  one  of  the  tests 
of  true  discipleship.  The  sanctimonious  Pharisee, 
with  broad  phylacteries,  who  paid  tithe  of  mint,  anise, 
and  cummin,  is  the  character  to  be  avoided.  But 
he  is  too  often  the  most  honored  man  in  the  church. 
"But  God  forgive  me  for  finding  fault  with  my 
brethren.  I  am  sure  that  many  of  them  are  better 
than  I ;  but  I  will  try  to  live  according  to  my  pre- 
cepts. Most  of  my  pay  as  Chaplain  has  been  saved. 
This  I  shall  appropriate  to  procure  a  little  home ; 
and  henceforth  I  am  to  be  an  apostle  to  the  poor. 
Already  I  have  done  a  great  work  in  the  field  of 
temperance.  I  will  do  much  more  if  my  life  and 
health  are  spared.  The  prisoners  shall  hear  from  me 
more  than  ever.  And  while  I  think  of  it,  let  me 
say  that  in  the  fifty  prisons  I  have  visited,  I  remem- 
ber but  two  high  officers,  one  a  Warden  and  the 
other  his  Chaplain,  who  came  up  to  my  ideal  of 
such  officers.  The  berth  of  Warden  is  usually 
given  as  compensation  for  political  services,  without 
regard  to  Christian  fitness,  and  the  selection  of 
Chaplain  is  usually  a  matter  of  favor.  Why,  I  have 
seen  in  a  New  England  prison,  an  old  Chaplain 
spend  the  entire  hour  and  a  half  of  the  Sabbath- 
school  session  without  speaking  to  a  prisoner.  I 
wondered  what  his  report  would  be  at  the  last  day. 


2-o  IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 

Did  you  visit  me  in  prison?  He  did,  bodily,  and 
got  good  pay,  but  he  left  his  Christ-spirit,  if  he  had 
any,  at  home.  But  I  am  traducing  others.  It  is 
easier  to  find  fault  with  others  than  to  do  right  our- 
selves. I  will  do  my  best  to  be  a  faithful  apostle  to 
the  poor." 


232       THE  LONG  NIGHT  IS  ENDING. 

By  E.    W.  Locke. 


y-g^^^—Eg 

"The  long  night  is  ending,  the  clouds  break  away,  The  heart  of  the  nation  beats 


Jtt 


::iLt 


joy-oua    a-  gain;  Our  foes,  long  ex-ultant,  turn  back  in  dis-may,  And 


fly    to  their  covers   as  wolves  to  their  den.  In  fair  Shenan-do  -  ah,  In 


— g~T  ^fr-cp-v *~r   t-*3—P i—i^—i-it 

en-nessee,     By  Georgia's  broad  rivers  clear  down  to  the  main,  Our 


•warriors  are  keeping  a  grand  Jubilee,  And  binding  the  monster  with  Abraham's 


CHORUS. 


Vic  -     to  -  ryl        Vic    -    to  -   ry!        trum-pcts     the    breeze; 


I 

1s  XNW-J  >  JM^ 
^B53E!fflfcS;^SH 


Vic  -  to  -  ry!     flashes    along  the  charged  wires;  Victo-ry !  thunder  the 


233 


clouds  and  the  seas!     Traitors  grow  dumb,  and  Rebellion       ex-pires. 
^tt*±*Z*=~*^ 


We  mourn  o'er  the  heroes  who  sleep  in  their  graves, 

Who  gave  to  their  country  their  patriot  blood ; 
We're  awed  in  the  presence  of  unselfish  braves, 

Who've  borne  our  dear  banner  through  war's  flame  and  flood; 
But  now,  while  we  sorrow,  there  bursts  on  the  ear 

Such  heart-thrilling  tidings  of  victories  won, 
We  sing,  as  if  Prophets,  "  The  end  draweth  near  ! 

The  dread  work  of  carnage  will  shortly  be  done." 

CHO.     Victory!  &c. 


3. 


Spring  forth,  0  ye  sluggards  !  strike  one  manly  blow : 

Spring  forth  at  the  closing  of  war's  deadly  strife  ; 
Though  Death  gains  new  victims,  the  record  will  show, 

Who  so  loved  his  country,  he  gave  her  his  life ; 
Spring  forth  now,  or  never ;  for  never  again 

AVill  glory  and  honor  invite  as  to-day  ; 
Go  stand  in  the  phalanx  of  blue-coated  men, 

And  conquer  or  perish  as  proudly  as  they. 

CHO.     Victory!  &c. 


CHAPTEK  XI. 

BOXES  AND  LETTERS  FEOM  HOME. 

IT  is  early  in  March,  1863.  The  Army  that  won 
the  decisive  and  all-important  battle  of  Stone  River 
is  yet  encamped  at  and  near  Murfreesboro'.  The 
ground  is  becoming  settled,  the  peach  trees  are  in 
bloom,  new  regiments,  and  recruits  for  old  ones,  are 
arriving.  Massive  earth- works,  surmounted  by  ri- 
fled cannon,  and  mostly  surrounded  by  abbattis, 
have  been  raised  by  the  unremitting  labors  of 
thousands  of  men  for  many  weeks ;  the  surrounding 
country,  for  fifteen  miles,  has  been  stripped  of 
forage;  scouting  parties,  consisting  generally  of 
one  brigade,  are  raiding  over  the  country,  a  distance 
of  fifty  to  a  hundred  miles  from  the  main  Army ; 
many  regiments  of  infantry  are  being  mounted,  and 
receiving  the  repeater-rule  ;  fresh  horses  are  arriving 
from  the  West  in  great  numbers;  Tennesseeans, 
clothed  in  their  butternut  suits,  (home-made  cloth, 
with  cotton  warp  and  woollen  woof,  colored  with  the 
bark  of  butternut,)  are  daily  pouring  into  camp, 
(234) 


IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL.  235 

some  begging  to  be  fed,  others  willing  to  work,  and 
a  few  to  enlist ;  six  infantry  regiments  of  East  Ten- 
nesseeans,  and  two  cavalry  from  the  central  part  of 
the  State,  did  good  service  in  the  late  battle,  and 
are  ready  for  further  duty.  Kentucky  has  three  or 
four  good  regiments  in  this  Army,  but  most  of  the 
troops  are  from  Ohio,  Illinois,  Indiana,  Michigan, 
and  Wisconsin.  Pennsylvania  has  two  or  three. 
Iowa's  troops  are  mostly  down  the  Mississippi,  and 
Minnesota's  in  different  departments ;  but  I  think 
none  are  here. 

I  have  just  returned  from  the  North,  and  have  a 
little  message  to  deliver  to  a  soldier  in  the  38th 
Ohio.  I  find  the  regiment  in  or  near  General 
Rousseau's  command,  on  the  elevation  at  the  right  of 
the  pike,  a  mile  or  more  south  of  the  town.  I  enter 
the  camp  while  a  number  of  the  boys  are  sweeping 
the  ground  with  brooms  of  bound  twigs,  under  the 
direction  of  the  officer  of  the  day,  who  is  a  Captain 
or  first  Lieutenant,  his  badge  of  office  being  a  large 
sash,  long  enough  to  encircle  the  waist  twice,  and 
bearing  long  fringed  ends  pendant  at  the  side,  making 
him  the  most  conspicuous,  if  not  the  most  important 
personage  of  the  camp. 

I  ask  the  pleasantest  boy  to  be  seen  if  he  knows 
Frederick  Johnson,  giving  the  letter  of  his  com- 
pany. 


236  IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 

"I  do,  sir;  do  you  wish  to  see  him?  I  will  call 
him  if  you  do." 

"Please  do  so." 

Throwing  his  broom  over  his  shoulder,  he  starts 
off,  and  is  soon  heard  shouting, — 

"Fred.  Johnson !  Company  G.  I  say,  Fred. 
Johnson ! " 

"Here  I  am.  What's  the  matter?  Do  you  wish 
to  borrow  some  stamps,  or  get  me  to  take  your 
place  on  picket?" 

"  Dry  up,  if  you  aiu't  drunk.  Somebody  over  La 
Company  H  wishes  to  see  you." 

"All  right." 

Soon  the  said  Frederick  Johnson  makes  his  ap- 
pearance, when  I  hand  him  a  note  from  his  mother, 
telling  him,  at  the  same  time,  he  will  find  some 
reference  in  it  to  a  box  which  she  sent  by  me,  and 
which  is  now  down  at  the  express  office  for  safe  keep- 
ing. "  This  is  but  a  note ;  you  will  find  letters  in 
the  box." 

"All  well?" 

"All  well  three  days  since." 

"  But  about  the  box ;  just  step  with  me  to  the 
Colonel's  tent,  and  I  will  introduce  you,  for  I  must 
have  a  pass  before  going  to  the  town." 

Declining  the  introduction,  I  nevertheless  go  near 


7JV   CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 


237 


enough  to  hear  the  interview  between  the  boy  Fred- 
erick and  his  Colonel. 

In  the  Eastern  Army,  at  this  stage  of  the  war, 
there  was  generally  a  sentinel  pacing  back  and  forth, 
night  and  day,  in  front  of  the  Colonel's  tent.  But 
in  the  West  this  custom  never  prevailed  so  exten- 
sively. There  was  never  so  great  an  attempt  at 
show,  except  among  a  few  organizations,  in  the  West 
as  in  the  East.  Some  of  the  regiments  that  came  to 
Washington  in  '62,  seemed  to  think  more  of  making 
a  fine  appearance  at  dress-parade  than  of  gaining  a 
victory. 

Timidly  the  boy  taps  at  the  tent-door.  "  Come 
m  ! "  But  these  two  short  words ,  spoken  with  a  louder 
tone  than  is  necessary,  set  the  young  man's  nerves 
in  a  nutter.  He  is  a  recruit,  has  been  in  the  ranks 
scarcely  ten  weeks.  He  was  reared  in  the  country, 
is  familiar  with  no  society  but  that  of  farmers.  Tho 
Colonel  is  the  greatest  man  he  has  ever  approached, 
and  he  has  never  spoken  even  to  him.  There  is  such 
a  distance,  in  his  eyes,  between  a  private  in  blue 
pants  and  blouse,  and  a  Colonel  with  the  finest  of 
broadcloth,  glittering  buttons,  a  scarlet  sash,  and  a 
silver  eagle  on  his  shoulders.  Why,  the  Corporal  is 
greater  than  himself,  a  raw  private,  and  the  Sergeant 
greater  than  the  Corporal,  the  Orderly  greater  than 
the  Sergeant,  and  the  Second  Lieutenant  greater  than 


238  IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 

he.  Higher  up  is  the  First  Lieutenant,  and  above 
him  the  Captain.  He  is  a  sort  of  viceroy  over  a 
hundred  men.  He  wears  fine  broadcloth,  a  strap  with 
two  bars,  and  a  scarlet  sash.  He  has  a  servant  who 
lives  better  than  the  private.  But  there  are,  at  least, 
four  officers  who  are  higher  than  the  Captain.  Pass- 
ing by  the  Chaplain  and  Surgeon,  there  are  the  Ad- 
jutant, the  Major,  the  Lieutenant-Colonel,  and  this 
Colonel,  who,  in  Frederick's  eyes,  is  a  monarch,  and 
he  has  said  to  the  trembling  boy,  "  Come  in,"  em- 
phasizing and  greatly  prolonging  the  last  word.  The 
Czar  of  Russia  could  not  put  more  dignity  into  these 
two  words  than  some  of  the  Colonels,  and  even  the 
Captains  did.  But,  in  this  instance,  the  officer 
only  infuses  just  enough  of  dignity  to  avoid  undue 
familiarity. 

"  I  wish  to  obtain  a  pass  to  the  town." 

«  What  do  you  wish  to  go  to  the  town  for  ?  " 

"Mother  has  sent  me  a  box  of  things,  and  I  wish 
to  go  and  get  it." 

"Oyes!" 

The  sternness  of  the  officer  is  gone  in  a  moment. 
That  quality  gives  place  to  the  kindness  and  tender- 
ness of  the  man. 

"Adjutant,  write  this  boy  a  pass!  Can  you  be 
back  at  four  o'clock,  at  dress  parade?  " 

"  Yes  sir." 


IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 


239 


Thanking  the  Colonel,  who  is  at  heart  one  of  the 
best  of  men,  and  whose  imperiousness,  like  that  of 
most  of  the  officers,  came  with  his  military  coat,  and 
will  be  laid  aside  with  that  garment,  the  soldier-boy 
is  leading  the  way,  impatient  to  get  hold  of  the 
treasure  at  the  express  office.  It  is  soon  found,  and, 
without  examining  the  contents,  he  shoulders  it, 
insisting  that  I  shall  return  with  him  to  dinner. 
Taking  turns  at  the  burden,  we  are  soon  in  camp. 
His  box  is  heavy,  but  his  heart  is  light.  He  has  two 
tent-mates,  both  of  whom  have  had  boxes  from  home, 
and  he  has  shared  their  liberality.  Now  his  turn 
has  come  ;  a  hatchet  is. found,  the  box  is  opened,  and 
the  contents  examined.  Having  brought  the  box,  I 
must  constitute  one  of  the  mess  while  we  have  a  din- 
ner of  a  mixture  of  army  and  home-fare.  The 
army  portion  is  a  nice  wheaten  loaf,  brought  up 
from  town  this  morning.  It  was  baked  last  night  in 
a  huge  sheet-iron  oven,  and  it  is  as  good  as  most  of 
the  mothers  at  home  could  make.  There  is  the  best 
of  coffee  in  that  little  bag  in  his  haversack.  The  home 
part  of  the  feast  is  a  can  of  condensed  milk  for  his 
coffee,  a  quart  of  canned  chicken,  a  can  of  peaches, 
another  of  apple-butter,  a  six-pound  cake  of  maple 
sugar,  a  large  ball  of  fresh-made  butter,  a  pint  of 
honey,  a  quart  of  maple  syrup,  and  a  five-pound 
fruit-cake.  Here  is  a  meal  fit  for  a  king.  Our 


240 


IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 


table  is  four  cracker-boxes,  laid  on  the  ground,  the 
cloth  my  rubber  poncho,  the  carving-knife  is  prob- 
ably lost,  the  silver  forks  locked  up,  and  the  key 
lost.  For  some  reason  the  polished  table-knives  are 
missing,  so  we  must  go  to  our  pockets  for  substi- 
tutes. If  any  one  of  the  company  is  without,  he 
will  borrow  of  his  neighbors,  or  use  his  iron  spoon. 
Here  is  a  Thanksgiving  dinner,  though  it  is  eaten  in 
spring-time.  There  are  no  toasts  drank.  In  fact, 
there  is  no  drink  but  coffee.  But  there  is  all  the 
food  the  daintiest  stomach  could  crave. 

The  dinner  over,  we  will  see  what  else  that  box 
contains.  There  are  two  pairs  of  cotton  drawers, 
and  two  pairs  of  nice  socks,  made  of  the  firmest 
yarn,  and  carefully  run  at  the  heels.  Here  is  a  pair 
of  thin  undershirts.  "It  is  coming  summer,  why 
did  mother  send  them,  and  the  drawers?"  Here  are 
a  little  package  of  black  tea,  one  of  envelopes,  a 
quire  of  note-paper,  a  dollar's  worth  of  postage- 
stamps,  a  dozen  pens,  half  a  paper  of  pins,  a  knot 
of  best  linen  thread,  some  needles,  and  some  but- 
tons. But  this  is  not  all.  There  are  letters  ;  and  as 
there  is  no  privacy,  Frederick  will  allow  me  to  copy 
them,  that  the  reader  may  see  what  the  soldier  some- 
times has  to  cheer  him  in  camp.  The  first  is  from 
his  little  sister  Carrie  :  — 


IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL.  24! 

DEAR  BROTHER  FREDDIE  : 

Mother  and  father  have  written  some  letters 
to  send  with  the  box,  and  mother  says  I  must  write 
too.  If  I  could  see  you,  I  could  chatter  and  chatter 
all  the  day,  and  all  the  night  too,  I  think,  without 
being  sleepy;  but  when  I  try  to  write,  my  thoughts 
get  all  mixed  up.  I  have  written  two  letters  already, 
but  they  seemed  such  poor  things,  I  have  burned 
them,  and  I  do  not  expect  this  will  be  any  better. 
But  mother  says  if  I  do  as  well  as  I  can,  you  will  be 
just  as  glad  to  read  it  as  if  it  was  ever  so  nice. 
Jennie  Gould,  who  is  only  a  year  older  than  I,  writes 
such  nice  letters,  and  she  reads  some  of  them  to 
me.  They  are  so  good,  they  sound,  as  she  reads 
them,  just  like  talking.  Some  of  them  make  me  cry, 
and  laugh,  too.  I  wish  I  could  write  as  Jennie  can. 
I  would  not  tell  you  anything  to  make  you  cry,  but 
try  to  make  you  laugh.  We  got  terribly  frightened 
the  other  evening.  Father  heard  that  lots  of  Ohio 
boys  had  been  taken  prisoners,  and  he  was  sure, 
from  what  he  heard,  that  the  rebels  had  got  you. 
You -can't  think  what  a  solemn  night  it  was.  Mother 
sat  in  the  corner,  threw  her  apron  over  her  head, 
looked  straight  at  the  fire  all  the  evening,  and  did 
nothing  but  sigh,  and  say,  every  little  while, "Poor 
Fred."  Father  felt  bad,  but  I  guess  he  was  so  mad 
that  he  could  not  grieve  much.  He  kept  saying, 

10 


242  IN  CAMP  AND    HOSPITAL. 

"The  fools!  the  fools!"  but  I  don't  know  what 
he  meant.  But,  when  we  heard  it  was  not  your 
regiment  that  was  captured,  I  danced  all  over  the 
room  for  joy.  Mother  made  me  stop  ;  for,  she  said, 
it  was  somebody's  brothers  that  had  been  taken ;  and, 
if  sorrow  had  been  removed  from  our  home,  it  had 
gone  somewhere  else. 

O,  I  wonder  when  this  war  will  be  over;  and 
why  God  lets  people  act  so  !  I  should  think,  if  any- 
body fights,  it  ought  to  be  them  that  makes  the  war. 
You  did  not  make  the  war,  nor  did  Henry  Gould  and 
the  rest  of  the  boys,  but  they  have  to  go  and  fight. 
I  can't  tell  you  how  much  I  want  to  see  you ;  but  I 
must  tell  you,  that  that  lump  of  maple  sugar  I  made 
for  you  myself. 

You  know  that  tree  that  stands  by  the  rocking 
rock  ?  Father  tapped  it,  and  said  it  should  be  called 
Freddie's  tree,  and  that  all  the  sap  should  be  made 
into  sugar,  and  sent  to  you ;  and  that  I  should  gather 
the  sap,  and  make  the  sugar.  I  gathered  the  sap, 
and  also  the  wood.  •  I  did  all ;  mother  just  helping 
me  a  little  in  boiling  it.  I  have  another  bigger 
square  than  the  one  sent;  you  shall  have  it  next 
time.  When  you  eat  a  piece,  will  you  think  that 
"Little  Carrie"  made  it?  I  wonder  folks  call  me 
"Little  Carrie,"for  I  am  as  big  as  my  mates,  and  no- 
body calls  them  little  ?  I  must  tell  you  that,  sinc« 


IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL.  243 

you  went  away,  Mary  Gould  has  taken  a  great  liking 
to  me,  and  she  talks  more  about  you  than  about  her 
brother,  who  has  been  gone  a  year.  I  did  not  know 
as  she  cared  for  you.  All  the  boys  send  love. 

LITTLE  CARRIE. 

P.S.  — I  forgot  to  tell  you  that  Johnny  Damon's 
father  gave  him  a  drum,  but  he  won't  let  Johnny 
beat  it  in  their  yard,  but  tells  him  to  go  some- 
where else.  Father  is  glad  to  have  him  come  into 
our  yard,  and  beat  it  aa  long  as  he  pleases  :  I  guess 
Mr.  Damon  don't  like  drums. 

(Mother's  Letter.) 

DEAR  FREDERICK:  — 

I  send  you  a  box  of  luxuries  and  comforts, 
which  I  hope  may  reach  you  in  good  condition.  I  shall 
ask  your  father  to  write  what  news  there  is,  while  I 
appropriate  my  pages  to  telling  you  what  burdens  my 
mind  most ;  you  know  very  well  that  I  always  made 
my  words  of  advice  as  few  and  impressive  as  I  well 
could.  I  do  not  intend  to  write  a  long  letter  now, 
but  I  have  heard  some  things  about  army-life  that 
I  was  ignorant  of  when  you  went  away ;  and  I  feel 
that  I  must  write  a  few  words  of  warning,  whether 
you  may  need  them  or  not ;  at  any  rate,  they  can  do 
you  no  harm,  and  they  may  do  good ;  I  know  you 


244  IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 

will  appreciate  them.  An  Army  Chaplain  lectured  in 
our  church  last  Sunday  evening,  and  he  said  there  is 
as  much  to  be  feared  from  the  vices  of  camp-life,  as 
from  the  bullet.  He  told  us  that  he  knew  a  great 
many  who  at  home  were  active  in  the  church,  in 
Sabbath-schools,  in  the  missionary  cause,  and  at 
temperance  meetings,  but  who,  in  the  Army,  are 
profane,  dissolute,  whiskey-drinkers,  and  even  gam- 
blers ;  and  he  said,  furthermore,  that  when  parents 
wrote  to  their  sous,  they  might  give  just  as  many 
expressions  of  love,  and  just  as  good  advice,  as 
possible,  but  the  points  he  wished  us  not  to  omit  were 
their  health,  and  the  dangers  of  strong  drink.  He  said 
that  one  of  the  afflictions  of  the  Army  of  the  Cum- 
berland a  month  ago,  was  chronic  diarrhoea,  and  he 
presumed  it  was  the  same  then.  He  said  that  one 
of  the  principal  causes  of  this  fearful  disease  is  badly 
cooked  food,  and  especially  badly  or  not  sufficiently 
cooked  beans.  I  do  not  know  as  you  can  have  any 
choice  in  food,  but  I  urge  you  to  use  discretion.  If 
possible,  have  all  your  food  cooked  sufficiently.  If 
you  can,  avoid  beans  entirely.  But  above  all,  avoid 
vice  in  every  shape.  He  said  that  swearing  was  al- 
most a  universal  habit  in  the  army ;  that  though  the 
rules  forbade  it,  those  who  did  not  swear  were  ex- 
ceptions ;  that  Generals  swear  at  the  Colonels,  the 


IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL.  245 

Colonels  at  the  Captains,  the  Captains  at  the  men,  and 
the  men  at  each  other. 

I  have  always  been  impressed  that  though  thous- 
ands have  fallen,  and  thousands  more  are  to  fall,  you 
will  be  spared.  This  is  a  great  comfort  to  me ;  for 
when  I  am  troubled  with  a  presentiment  of  evil,  it  is 
almost  certain  to  come  in  some  shape.  And,  on  the 
other  hand,  when  I  can  seem  to  see  light  beyond  or 
under  the  cloud,  it  is  almost  sure  to  be  there.  But, 
Frederick,  my  boy,  if  you  are  to  come  back,  as  I 
trust  you  are,  I  pray  God  you  may  come  the  same  in 
heart  as  you  went  away.  I  know  you  never  drank 
nor  gambled,  and  I  always  felt  certain  your  language 
and  habits  were  pure.  Can  you  be  beguiled  into  the 
belief  that  it  is  discourteous  to  refuse  when  you  are 
invited  to  drink,  or  play  at  games  of  chance  with 
your  companions  ?  Or  will  you  quail  at  the  derision 
of  men  who  would  entice  you  to  go  with  them  to 
ruin?  Need  I  say  anything  to  save  you?  Do  not 
think  I  distrust  you.  It  is  a  mother  who  writes  this, 
and  no  heart  is  so  solicitous  a§  hers.  The  approach 
of  vice  is  so  insidious,  and  the  voice  of  the  tempter 
has  such  a  charm  to  the  youthful  ear,  I  can  but  feel 
the  utmost  solicitude. 

Even  many  of  those  who  have  never  been  exposed 
to  extraordinary  temptations,  meeting  their  parents' 
eyes  at  every  daily  meal,  kneeling  with  them  twice  a 


246  IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 

day  at  the  family  altar,  are  seized  with  a  strong  arm, 
and  borne  away  to  destruction  in  the  sight  of  their 
nearest  relatives.  How  can  I  avoid  thinking  of  you, 
when  I  see  so  many. young  men  falling?  It  was  but 
last  week  that  John  Hookins  died  with  mania  a/potu, 
and  since  you  left,  the  four  boys  in  jail  for  house- 
breaking  have  been  sentenced  to  prison,  the  crime 
having  been  committed  under  the  stimulus  of  strong 
drink.  I  can  only  ask  you  to  peruse  that  Book  of 
books  I  gave  you  at  parting,  and  ponder  on  every 
passage  you  read  that  seems  in  the  least  applicable  to 
you.  I  commit  you  again  to  Him  who  holds  the 
sparrows  in  His  hands,  and  alloweth  not  one  to  fall 
without  His  notice. 

Your  affectionate  mother, 

CAROLINE  JOHNSON. 


(Fatluefs  Letter.) 
DEAR  FRED  : — 

Your  mother  has  a  quantity  of  articles  to  send 
you  by  an  acquaintance,  and  I  will  devote  this  even- 
ing to  a  letter  to  accompany  them.  We  are  as  well 
as  usual.  It  seems,  from  all  accounts,  that  the  differ- 
ent departments  of  the  Army  remain  in  statu  quo.  I 
wish  I  could  see  any  signs  of  the  end.  One  fact 
staggers  me  :  in  nearly  all  the  battles,  except  the  first 


IN   CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 


247 


Bull  Run,  we  claim  to  have  been  victorious,  yet  we 
seem  to  have  gained  nothing.  It  was  denied  that 
McClellan  was  defeated  before  Richmond,  yet  the 
army  of  the  Potomac  is  fifty  miles  farther  from  Rich- 
mond than  it  was  last  summer.  If  Lee  was  routed 
with  great  slaughter  at  Antietam,  why  was  he  allow- 
ed to  recross  the  Potomac  with  all  his  trains  and 
equipage  ?  Grant  was  to  have  taken  Vicksburg,  but 
the  prospect  of  success  is  as  gloomy  as  ever,  so  far  as 
I  can  see.  The  papers  assert  that  Bragg  was  badly 
defeated  at  Stone  River,  and  really,  as  far  as  I  can 
understand,  it  does  look  like  a  defeat.  Now  I  do 
not  suppose  you  can  learn  much  that  will  throw  any 
light  on  the  subject,  but  it  seems  to  me  that  the  men 
who  fought  the  battle  know  whether  it  was  a  victory 
or  not.  Talk  with  the  men,  and  write  me  the  result 
of  your  inquiries.  One  fact  cannot  be  denied  :  Bragg 
retired  as  Rosecrans  advanced. 

The  enemies  at  home  are  as  bitter  as  ever.  In  fact, 
the  prolongation  of  the  struggle,  uud  our  discour- 
agements, embolden  them;  and  I  sometimes  fear  we 
old  men  at  home  will  have  to  fight  the  enemy  in  the 
rear.  I  think  a  little  incident  that  occurred  in  town 
last  week,  will  interest  you :  Esquire  Anderson, 
who  lives  in  the  north  part  of  the  town,  and  whom 
you  have  seen,  has  two  boys,  neither  of  whom  is  lia- 


^48  IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 

ble  to  military  service.  Father  and  boys  are  true  to 
the  Union;  but  the  old  gentleman  has  a  second 
wife,  who  is  a  rebel — not  a  secret,  but  an  open  one. 
In  fact,  she  is  the  meanest  copperhead  in  town.  She 
resolved  on  having  a  male  copperhead  party  at  her 
house  on  Thursday  evening,  and  sent  out  a  hundred 
invitations.  No  ladies  were  invited.  The  house, 
though  a  large  one,  would  not  hold  them.  There 
was  to  be  a  grand  supper,  yet  I  think  some  hidden 
political  scheme  was  to  be  developed  on  the  occa- 
sion. Oysters  were  procured,  turkeys,  chickens, 
and  pigs  cooked,  doughnuts  by  the  bushel,  and  pies 
and  cakes  enough  for  three  ordinary  weddings  baked, 
and  everything  was  in  readiness  for  the  feast.  The 
day  came,  and  it  was  pleasant.  Extra  help  was  to 
come  in  the  afternoon.  The  lady  had  occasion  to 
go  to  a  neighbor's,  a  mile  away.  The  husband  sent 
the  female  help  off  in  another  direction,  while  he 
and  his  boys  loaded  the  articles  for  the  feast  on  a 
wagon,  and  sent  them  off  into  the  woods. 

When  the  lady  returned,  there  was  a  scene.  But 
she  thought  herself  equal  to  the  occasion ;  so  she 
took  the  gun,  and  after  loading  it,  marched  out  into 
the  field,  and' demanded  the  provisions.  The  men 
feigned  ignorance.  She  threatened  to  leave  her  hus- 
band at  once,  if  he  did  not  tell  her  what  had  become 


IN   CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 


249 


of  the  eatables.  But  he  thought  she  would  not,  or 
if  she  did,  he  might  be  able  to  endure  the  separa- 
tion. Then  she  pointed  the  gun,  first  at  one,  and 
then  at  another ;  but  each  told  her  to  blaze  away, 
and  they  were  glad  there  was  one  copperhead  that 
was  not  afraid  to  handle  a  gun.  But  she  did  not 
find  her  turkeys  and  pigs. 

One  item  more.  There  was  a  fracas  in  the  church 
last  Sunday.  Some  copperhead  girls  came  into  the 
church,  displaying,  with  a  very  taunting  manner, 
some  pins  and  ear-drops  made  of  butternuts.  A 
Union  girl  foolishly  snatched  two  of  the  pins  from 
their  owners'  dresses,  and  a  grand  female  fight  was 
the  immediate  result,  and  in  a  few  minutes  the 
whole  congregation  were  engaged  in  the  melee.  But 
the  Union  party  was  the  stronger,  and  came  off  vic- 
torious. You  remember  that  it  is  the  Union  people 
mostly  who  attend  church.  Had  the  fight  been 
among  a  party  at  a  saloon,  I  doubt  not  the  copper- 
heads would  have  carried  the  day.  I  hope  you  are 
not  annoyed  by  this  class  in  the-  Army.  A  rebel  is  a 
gentleman,  compared  with  one  of  these  varmints. 
Be  careful  of  your  health.  Good-by. 
Your  father, 

AMOS  JOHNSON. 


250 


IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 


OTHER  LETTERS. 


One  of  the  pastimes  of  many  of  the  lower  grade 
of  officers,  as  well  as  privates,  was  corresponding 
with  unknown  females,  in  different  parts  of  the  coun- 
try, commenced  by  a  call  in  the  newspapers.  I 
need  not  present  any  of  these.  Every  reader  saw 
them,  but  not  many  saw  the  answers.  Having  seen 
hundreds  of  them,  I  am  enabled  to  present  copies 
of  a  few.  If  some  of  the  females  could  have  fore- 
seen what  sport  was  to  be  made  of  their  letters,  they 
would  have  been  at  least  more  careful  in  spelling, 
language,  and  sentiment.  Many  of  these  answers 
were  written  by  men,  and  copied  by  females,  and 
some  were  in  a  disguised  hand ;  but  most  of  them 
coming  under  my  observation  were  unmistakably 
the  composition  of  females,  and  while  many  were 
indifferent,  and  some  flat,  very  many  were  most  ex- 
cellent in  style  and  matter.  I  will  copy  two  only : 


(Specimen  No.  1.) 

LYNN,  Mass.,  Aug.  4,  1864. 

ME.  DARIUS  LOVEGOOD  : 

Dear  Sir, — Noticing  your  call  for  correspondence 
in  a  stray  number  of  the  Cincinnati  Commercial.  I 
take  the  liberty  to  reply.  This  is  done  after  long 


IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL.  2^l 

hesitation,  and  many  misgivings.  I  fear  somewhat 
that  I  am  engaging  in  a  hazardous  enterprise.  But 
there  was  something  in  the  form  of  your  call  that 
not  only  excited  my  curiosity,  but  won  strangely 
upon  my  confidence. 

Were  any  one  but  a  soldier,  perilling  his  life  for  a 
common  good,  for  me  and  mine,  equally  with  him- 
self, thus  calling  for  correspondence,  I  should  never 
have  dreamed  of  writing  a  letter  to  a  stranger.  I 
feel  towards  our  soldiers  as  I  might  towards  a  sailor 
who  had  leaped  into  the  ocean  to  save  a  drowning 
brother ;  I  had  almost  said  mother.  I  used  to  read 
works  of  fiction,  but  they  have  been  discarded  for 
something  about  the  war. 

How  gladly  would  I  leave  home  for  a  season  for  a 
berth  in  the  hospital,  without  money  and  without 
price.  I  am  not  much  of  a  nurse,  it  is  true,  but  I 
have  the  reputation  of  being  an  excellent  reader, 
and  it  seems  to  me  I  might  be  of  immense  service  in 
reading  to  the  convalescent.  I  am  a  passable  singer, 
and  play  a  guitar  accompaniment,  and  who  knows 
but  my  songs  might  be  of  as  much  service  as  the 
surgeon's  medicines  ?  But  here  I  am,  writing  as  to 
an  old  acquaintance,  when  Mr.  Lovegood  may  be  a 
myth. 

If  you  see  fit  to  write  to  me,  I  wish  you  to  in- 
form me  as  much  about  the  duties  of  Army  life  as 


252 


CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 


possible.  If  not  romantic,  there  is  a  true  heart  dic- 
tating this  letter,  capable  of  appreciating  true  man- 
hood, wherever  found.  Yet  I  am  a  very  practical 
girl,  given  to  speaking  and  writing  plain  facts,  with- 
out much  fancy. 

Trusting  to  hear  from  you  in  the  same  spirit  in 
which  this  is  written,  I  subscribe  myself, 
The  Soldiers'  Friend, 

ADA  PARKER. 

(Specimen  No.  2.) 

RICHMOND,  IND.,  Dec.  5,  1863. 

MR.  ALEXANDER  BRAINARD  : 

Dear  $ir, —  I  take  the  libert5T  to  answer  your  ad- 
vertisement in  the  Chicago  Tribune.  I  do  not  know 
what  kind  of  a  correspondent  you  want.  If  you 
will  be  kind  enough  to  let  me  know  the  style  of  cor- 
respondence you  prefer,  I  will  endeavor  to  accommo- 
date you.  I  am  versatile,  and  will  write  in  any  vein 
you  may  choose,  provided  it  be  proper.  If  you  are 
fond  of  the  sentimental,  I  will  write  like  a  novelist ; 
if  you  are  fond  of  historic  sketches,  or  poetry,  I  will 
do  my  best  to  please  you.  For  myself,  I  will  only 
say  that,  inasmuch  as  I  was  born  a  woman  and  not  a 
man,,  as  I  wish  I  had  been,  I  embrace  any  opportu- 
nity to  appropriate  the  occupations  of  the  opposite 


IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 


253 


sex.  I  have  been  tempted  many  times  to  enlist,  as 
others  have  done,  and  would  do  it  now,  but  for  the 
fear  of  exposure.  My  character  is  above  reproach, 
but  I  am  brimful  of  energy,  and  have  no  way  to 
employ  it.  When  I  have  seen  some  of  the  boys  go- 
ing to  the  army,  unfit  as  children,  I  have  longed  to 
take  their  places.  Now  that  you  know  something 
of  me,  write  in  just  such  strain  as  you  may  choose, 
provided,  of  course,  it  shall  be  proper,  and  I  will 
exert  myself  to  be  edifying  in  my  next. 
Yours,  etc., 

EDNA  GREEN. 


CHAPTER    XII. 

NIGHT  AND  DAY  TRAMPS   IN  TENNESSEE. 

ABOUT  the  20th  of  December,  1862,  the  Army  of 
the  Cumberland  struck  tents  and  moved  from  its 
camping-grounds,  a  mile  or  two  south  of  Nashville, 
on  two  nearly  parallel  pikes,  in  the  direction  of  Mur- 
freesboro',  where  Bragg's  Army  had  lain  a  number 
of  months.  The  division  under  Jeff.  C.  Davis  took 
the  Franklin  pike,  while  most  of  the  troops  took  the 
Murfreesboro'.  The  first  advance  was  but  about  six 
miles,  at  which  point  it  remained^  a  few  days,  the 
relative  position  of  the  different  divisions  being  the 
same  as  before  leaving  Nashville. 

It  appeared  as  though  Rosecrans  had  some  fear  of 
an  attack  from  Bragg,  for  he  moved  slowly,  and  with 
great  caution.  Except  when  on  the  march,  the  whole 
force  of  some  fifty  thousand  men  could  have  been 
thrown  into  line  of  battle  in  a  few  minutes.  And  those 
troops  were  not  wholly  inexperienced  ;  most  of  them 
had  seen  some  fighting  in  Kentucky  and  Tennessee. 
They  did  not  dread  to  meet  Bragg's  Army.  They  had 
(254) 


IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL.  255 

been  matched  with  his  troops,  in  small  engagements, 
and  felt  that,  in  an  earnest  struggle  for  supremacy, 
they  should  come  out  victors.  Most  of  them  were 
eager  for  a  great  battle,  in  which  they  could  demon- 
strate to  the  world  the  difference  between  Eastern 
and  Western  troops.  Both  officers  and  men  held  the 
Army  of  the  Potomac  in  contempt.  Each  knew  by 
heart  the  stories  of  Bull  Run,  Fair  Oaks,  Games' 
Mill  and  Fredericksburg ;  and  of  McDowell,  Mc- 
Clellan,  Burnside,  and  John  Pope.  Talk  to  them  of 
the  Army  of  the  Potomac,  and  their  expressions, 
though  various,  according  to  tastes  and  education, 
all  meant  one  thing  —  contempt. 

"I  say,  old  fellow,"  said  one,  "are  you  from  the 
Army  of  the  Potomac?" 

"I  left  it  two  weeks  ago  yesterday." 
"Have  the  boys  got  over  the  whooping  cough?" 
"Pretty  much  through  with  that,  I  think." 
"Getting  ready  for  the  measles  and  canker-rash, 
most  likely?" 
"Nearly  ready." 

"Do   any  of  them  begin  to  see   down   on   their 
chins?" 

"The  down  comes  on  finely ;  some  are  just  nursing 
their  first  whiskers." 

"  Surprising  !     Who  knows  but  they  will  be  men 


256  nr  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 

yet?  How's  McClellan?  Has  he  got  the  shoes  he 
waited  for  so  long?" 

"He  is  all  right ;  his  men  are  now  well  shod." 

"Has  he  sold  his  Quaker  guns?" 

"No;  he  has  just  shipped  them  for  the  home- 
guards  of  Kentucky." 

Nothing  could  be  learned  of  the  intentions  of 
Rosecrans.  The  camp  was  continually  alive  with 
rumors.  One  morning  the  story  was  that  Bragg  was 
but  two  miles  away,  and  that  a  battle  must  ensue 
within  two  hours.  Another  time,  the  rumor  was 
that  the  foe  was  massing  on  the  Franklin  pike,  and 
that  it  was  his  intention  to  strike  our  right  wing  with 
an  overpowering  force,  before  our  troops  could  be 
concentrated,  turn  back  that  wing,  and  reach  Nash- 
ville before  us,  destroy  our  stores,  and  thus  almost 
annihilate  us. 

After  a  halt  of  a  few  days,  we  make  another  ad- 
vance of  perhaps  six  miles.  Starting  early  in  the 
morning,  with  a  clear,  cool  day,  and  the  roads  in 
fine  order,  it  is  a  very  easy  day's  march.  Having 
had,  on  former  occasions,  some  unpleasant  experi- 
ences in  keeping  with  the  van  of  a  moving  army,  I 
determined,  this  time,  to  remain  with  the  rear.  To- 
wards sun-down  I  called  at  a  house  and  asked  for 
entertainment.  The  family  consisted  of  an  old  man , 
his  old  wife,  and  a  young  negro  woman  with  a  baby. 


7.2V  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 


257 


The  house  was  situated  on  the  Franklin  pike,  per- 
haps ten  miles  from  Nashville,  a  one-story  frame, 
with  a  log  porch.  The  main  house  had  two  large 
rooms,  a  pantiy  and  a  bed-room.  The  porch  was 
simply  a  kitchen,  with  space  to  sleep  in  the  attic. 
There  was  not  a  book  or  a  newspaper  in  the  house  ; 
and  it  was  not  a  very  easy  matter  to  determine  how 
to  use  up  the  interval  before  bed-time.  I  tried  to 
make  the  old  man  talk,  but  he  either  would  not,  or 
was  like  the  Irishman's  parrot,  that  kept  up  a  divil  of 
a  thinking.  Only  two  items  could  be  drawn  from 
him; — one,  that  "before  the  war  he  owned  twenty 
niggers,  and  raised  a  right  smart  crap,  but  now  they 
is  all  done  gone  but  the  gal  in  the  kitchen  and  her 
baby."  The  other,  that  wthe  gal's  husband  lived 
over  on  yon  hill  two  miles  away,  comes  here  once  a 
week,  stays  Sunday  night,  and  totes  hisself  off  be- 
fore sunrise  Monday  morning." 

The  old  man  sat  in  one  corner,  his  wife  in  the 
other.  No  doubt  the  farm,  house,  negro-girl  and 
baby  were  held  by  the  joint  ownership  of  husband 
and  wife,  but  there  were  two  articles  to  which  each 
held  exclusive  title.  These  had  not  been  handed 
down  from  generation  to  generation.  Neither  was 
a  family  heir-loom.  Neither  had  a  family  coat  of 
arms.  Nor  was  either  strikingly  beautiful.  These 
were  not  two  knives,  or  two  forks,  or  two  plates, 
17 


258  W  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 

nor  two  chairs,  each  peculiarly  adapted  to  the  varying 
shapes  of  the  old  couple ;  but  two  cob  pipes,  vener- 
able, not  with  age,  but  use.  His  uncouth  instrument 
of  solace  belonged,  when  not  in  his  mouth,  on  one  end 
of  the  mantel,  hers  on  the  other.  Hardly  had  it 
been  deposited  in  its  place  of  momentary  rest,  and 
the  bowl  become  cool,  before  it  was  seized  again  by 
its  old  nervous  proprietor,  stuffed  to  the  brim  with 
the  delicious  weed,  lighted  at  the  fifth  or  sixth 
attempt,  and  was  doing  service  in  making  life  endu- 
rable to  an  old  man  or  woman  who  never  thinks. 
Their  principal  happiness  came  through  a  pipe- 
stem.  The  old  lady  had  the  advantage  of  her  hus- 
band. She  had  two  sources  of  enjoyment.  She 
smoked  as  much  as  he,  but  had  also  a  secret  luxury 
he  had  not  learned  to  enjoy.  She  had  the  gums 
constantly  lined  with  snuff.  It  required  careful  ob- 
servation to  discern  it,  for  she,  who  was  not 
ashamed  to  be  seen  smoking  nearly  all  the  time, 
used  her  finger  and  dipping-stick  on  the  sly. 

Just'as  I  was  going  to  bed,  the  old  lady  came  into 
the  room,  much  agitated,  and  addressed  me  for  the 
first  time : 

"Stranger,  it  'pears  that  two  of  your  Northern 
soldiers  is  in  the  kitchen  troublin  the  colored  gal, 
and  as  they  have  their  guns,  we  are  very  much 


IN -CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL.  259 

afeard.  It  'pears  like  if  you  would  go  out  and  speak 
to  them  they  would  not  harm  her." 

"  With  pleasure,  ma'am." 

Opening  the  door,  and  meeting  the  young  men,  I 
said,  with  the  air  of  a  familiar  acquaintance,  "  Good- 
evening,  boys  !  "  They  seemed  greatly  astonished 
to  find  a  man  in  the  house.  "Good  evening,"  came 
back,  but  there  was  something  in  their  looks  that 
was  unpleasant.  "  What  regiment  do  you  belong 
to?" 

"  Don't  you  see  by  the  number  on  our  caps  that  we 
belong  to  the  94th  ?  " 

"  Yes,  but  I  did  not  know  whether  it  was  the  94th 
Illinois,  Indiana,  or  Ohio?" 

"Well,  it  don't  make  much  difference.  But  who 
are  you?"  evidently  ready  to  pick  a  quarrel  with 
one  who  had  interferred  with  their  purpose  to  have  a 
chat  with  the  negro  girl,  and,  perhaps,  do  her 
harm.  I  hardly  knew  what  answer  to  make.  They 
were  crossed  in  their  purposes.  It  was  evident 
they  mistook  me  for  a  Southerner.  I  saw  that  I 
must  use  a  little  circumspection,  to  get  rid  of  them 
without  trouble ;  so,  without  answering  their  ques- 
tion directly,  I  said,  "Do  you  not  know  me?" 

"Of  course  not.  Are  you  a  Yank,  or  a  Johnny 
Reb?" 


260  IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 

"Why,  boys,  I  am  one  of  the  Army  Postmas- 
ters!" 

"Army  Postmaster !  That  is  a  new  officer.  1 
have  seen  all  kinds  of  fellows  in  the  army  who  don't 
fight — Chaplains,  Surgeons,  Paymasters,  Quarter- 
masters, Sutlers,  Wagon-masters,  Mule-drivers, 
Telegraphers,  Railroaders,  and  Nurses,  but  I  never 
saw  an  Army  Postmaster  before.  Well,  that  is 
good.  If  Uncle  Sam  has  appointed  some,  he  has 
done  a  good  thing.  Have  you  got  just  a  few  of 
those  little  three-cent  pictures  we  use  on  letters 
about  you?" 

Presenting  each  of  them  with  twenty-five,  I  bade 
them  "  Good-evening,"  and  thought  I  had  got  out  of 
a  scrape  cheaply.  But  I  was  far  from  being  out. 
Shortly  after  my  leaving  the  room,  the  soldiers  took 
their  guns  and  went  into  the  yard.  The  old  man, 
opening  the  door  sufficiently  to  hear  their  conversa- 
tion, soon  learned  their  purpose.  They  were  satis- 
fied I  was  a  spy,  and  determined  to  have  me,  dead 
or  alive.  He  heard  one  of  them  say,  "He  is  prob- 
ably armed,  so  we  must  load  up,  and  be  ready  for 
him." 

The  old  mail  had  heard  enough.  Coming  into  my 
room,  and  springing  to  the  window  leading  to  the 
back  yard,  he  said,  "  Stranger,  these  soldiers  are 
loading  their  guns  to  take  you.  They  think  you  are 


IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL.  26l 

a  spy,  and  I  am  afeard  they  will  do  you  harm.  You 
have  no  time  to  lose.  Take  hold  of  the  window- 
sill,  and  drop  into  the  yard,  and  then  take  to  the 
woods.  You  need  not  be  afeard.  You  are  safer  in 
the  woods  than  here." 

I  was  soon  in  the  yard,  and  he  threw  my  knap- 
sack after  me  ;  but  instead  of  starting  for  the  woods, 
I  took  the  back  track  towards  Nashville.  The  night 
was  dark,  with  no  moon,  and  a  little  mist.  I  could 
keep  the  road  without  difficulty ;  but  before  proceed- 
ing far,  I  heard  some  one,  ten  rods  ahead,  call  out, 
'Who  comes  there?" 

"A  friend,  without  the  countersign.** 

"Stand,  as  you  are,  till  I  report!" 

In  a  little  while  he  inquires,  "Are  you  armed?" 

"I  am  not." 

"You  may  advance." 

In  a  few  minutes  I  was  with  those  who  knew  me. 
I  had  found  friends,  but  no  place  to  sleep.  This 
was  a  picket-guard  to  watch  the  road  during  the 
night.  It  consisted  of  a  Lieutenant  and  three  men. 
A  temporary  shelter  had  been  constructed  with  some 
rails,  and  two  ponchos  thrown  over  them,  so  that 
some  of  the  falling  mist  was  kept  out.  It  was  near 
the  close  of  December,  but  the  weather  was  not  very 
cold.  One  man  stood  by  the  road-side  on  guard  two 
hours,  and  then  came  to  chat  with  the  rest  of  the 


262  IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 

squad,  while  another  took  his  place.  There  were 
four  of  us  wrapped  in  blankets,  sitting  closely  as  pos- 
sible for  warmth,  (for  we  could  have  no  fire,')  with 
nothing  to  take  up  our  time  for  the  night.  Stories 
were  in  order.  Songs  were  excluded,  if  any  of  us 
had  felt  like  singing.  There  must  be  no  noise.  If 
a  story  causes  a  laugh,  we  must  laugh  low.  But 
there  is  no  lack  of  them.  Soldiers,  like  sailors  and 
lumbermen,  have  a  fund  of  them.  One  told,  another 
is  ready.  One  of  the  squad  was  full  of  Indian, 
prairie,  wolf,  and  panther  legends.  His  great-grand- 
parents were  pioneers  in  Illinois,  and  he  knew  every 
family  legend  for  three  generations  back.  Another 
knew  the  exploits  of  Western  Banditti,  and  gave  us 
a  circumstantial  account  of  the  murder  of  Colonel 
Davenport,  and  of  the  career  of  the  Longs ;  also, 
the  particulars  of  the  shooting  of  Mr.  Campbell, 
near  White  Eock,  in  Ogle  County,  Illinois,  by  a 
band  of  horse-thieves.  They  were  apprehended, 
tried  by  a  self-constituted  court  of  farmers,  adjudged 
guilty,  and  shot  on  the  spot,  there  being  a  father  and 
two  sons  among  the  victims ;  also,  of  a  man  who 
came  to  Lane,  Illinois,  in  the  first  year  of  the  war, 
and  attempted  to  burn  the  town ;  but  being  arrested, 
and  brought  before  a  justice  for  preliminary  exami- 
nation, a  crowd  of  citizens  tilled  the  court-room, 
and  while  there  was  a  brief  recess,  ostensibly  for 


IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL.  263 

dinner,  ran  a  piece  of  scantling  from  the  window 
and  suspended  the  suspected  person  by  the  neck  till 
he  was  dead. 

One  of  our  number  was  a  Lieutenant,  and  his 
story  being  both  true  and  interesting,  I  will  give  it 
as  nearly  as  possible.  Addressing  me,  he  said, — 

"Were  you  ever  in  Kockport,  Massachusetts ? " 

"I  know  the  place  very  well." 

"Do  you  remember  a  little  school-house  almost 
over  to  Pigeon  Cove,  near  Mr.  Beniah  Coburn's?" 

"I  remember  the  school-house." 

"Well,  in  the  winter,  of  '46,  '47,  or  '48,  I  forget 
which,  I  was  standing  in  that  school-house  door  one 
morning,  just  before  the  master  called  his  scholars 
to  order,  looking  out  upon  the  still  waters  of  Ipswich 
Bay,  when  I  beheld  a  hundred  or  more  Cape  Ann 
fishermen  in  their  little  wherries,  each  boat  contain- 
ing but  one  man,  dotting  an  area  of  many  thousand 
square  miles.  Suddenly,  and  without  any  warning, 
the  air  thickened  with  mist,  immediately  followed 
by  snow.  A  violent  wind  sprung  up  almost  instan- 
taneously, and  sweeping  from  the  shore,  struck  the 
tiny  crafts  with  a  force  seemingly  sufficient  to  swamp 
them  at  once. 

"To  raise  the  killock,  and  ship  the  oars,  was  but 
the  work  of  a  minute.  But  it  required  sinewy  arms, 
good  lungs,  and  a  cool  head,  to  reach  the  shore. 


264  IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 

Now,  fishermen,  pull  for  your  lives,  or  you  perish 
within  a  league  of  home.  The  wind  blew  a  tornado, 
the  snow  was  blinding,  men  ran  to  the  shore  With 
horns,  to  let  the  struggling  men  know  which  way  to 
direct  their  boats. 

w  One,  two,  five,  ten,  twenty,  forty,  have  reached 
the  shore.  But  more  than  a  score  of  them  are  yet 
in  the  boiling  waves.  What  is  to  be  done?  The 
staunchest  whale-boat  in  the  Cove  is  selected,  four 
of  the  most  lion-hearted  men  of  all  the  fishermen  of 
the  place  step  forward  ready  to  face  the  surging 
waves,  in  as  wild  a  day  as  ever  was  seen  from  a 
north  wind  on  Ipswich  Bay.  The  snow  has  ceased, 
but  the  clouds  above  and  the  waters  below  are  black, 
as  with  anger.  '  Hoist  and  reef  the  foresail ;'  down  the 
narrow  cove  the  boat  glides  like  a  porpoise-.  'Down 
tiller  ! '  'Steady,  now,  while  she  fills  on  the  other 
tack.'  The  winds  whistle,  one  man  in  the  bow 
with  a  glass,  to  use,  if  possible,  in  the  lull  of  the 
blasts,  one  at  the  foremast,  grasping  the  foresheet  to 
bring  down  the  sail  at  a  word  from  the  helmsman, 
the  fourth  sitting  by  the  helmsman,  with  the  double 
duty  of  watching  the  waters  for  signs  of  the  missing 
men,  and  attending  to  any  call  for  assistance  from 
dim  at  the  tiller,  and  at  the  i^remast. 

"One  hour  passes,  an^  bothing  seen.  'Port  your 
helm  ! '  cries  the  may  in  the  bow.  '  Steady  ! '  'A 


IN  GAMP  AND  HOSPITAL.  265 

wherry  !  and  I  think  a  man  in  her  ! '  '  Pay  out  the 
sheet  a  little,  Mr.  Poole,'  says  the  helmsman.  'All 
right!'  On,  on,  like  the  fearless  gulls!  'But 
there  is  another,  and  still  farther  on  is  another!' 
says  the  man  at  the  bow.  'Ah!  this  man  is  alive, 
but  with  our  boat  speeding  away  at'ten  knots,  how 
shall  we  rescue  him?  He  sees  us,  and  knows  our 
mission.  He  is  not  yet  wholly  benumbed,  for  see 
how  well  he  handles  the  oars.'  'Down  sail !  Coil 
the  line  carefully,  and  mind  how  you  throw  it ! 
Steady  !  Throw  ! '  The  wherryman  has  caught  it, 
and  making  it  fast  to  his  killock-line  for  a  few 
moments,  while  he  can  transfer  a  few  little  valuables, 
he  is  soon  safe  in  the  larger  boat,  and,  cutting  tho 
line  that  holds  the  little  shell  that  has  saved  him 
from  death,  the  mainsail  goes  up  again,  and  our 
fisherman  looks  first  at  the  companion  they  are  now 
making  for,  and  then  at  the  dear,  staunch  wherry 
now  fast  receding,  and  querying  if  he  shall  ever  see 
it  again. 

"  Night  is  coming  on ;  nearly  a  dozen  have  been 
thus  picked  up,  more  or  less  frost-bitten,  but  none 
seriously  injured.  The  boat  has  returned  to  the  Cove 
just  as  the  darkness  has  fairly  set  in.  Men,  women 
and  children  have  gathered  to  hear  the  tidings. 
There  were  blessings,  and  tears,  and  thanks,  and 
'God  bless  you  for  your  noble  deeds.'  But  seven 


266  IN    CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 

were  missing  still.  Hunting  over  the  sea  in  a 
moonless  night  was  out  of  the  question.  It  was 
a  sad  night  for  all  of  that  little  village.  But 
seven  households  were  in  sorrow  words  cannot  de- 
scribe ;  wives  and  mothers  pacing  the  floor,  peering 
out  into  the  dark-,  watching  the  sky,  praying  that  the 
clouds  might  break  away,  looking  into  the  almanac 
to  learn  what  time  the  moon  rose,  calling  up  the  old 
fisherman  in  the  adjoining  cottage  to  ask  what  time 
they  might  expect  the  moon  to  '  wear  away '  the 
clouds,  and  if  he  were  ever  out  in  such  a  night  as 
this,  and  if  he  thought  their  husbands'  wherries  as 
good  as  those  that  saved  the  other  men,  and  many 
more  similar  questions. 

"No  one  watched  the  heavens  that  night  more  faith- 
fully than  myself.  Coming  from  the  Cove  with  the 
story  of  the  rescued  men  in  my  heart,  I  resolved  that, 
at  the  first  breaking  of  the  clouds,  and  the  appearance 
of  the  moon,  which  was  nearly  at  its  fall,  I  would  be 
one  of  a  night-crew  to  search  for  the  missing  men. 
By  eleven  o'clock  the  change  came,  and  the  wind 
moderated  a  little.  I  must  have  three  trusty  men, 
and  whom  shall  they  be?  Who  will  go?  A  lit- 
tle fisherman,  scarcely  more  than  five  feet  high, 
nor  weighing  more  than  one  hundred  and  twenty 
pounds,  whose  religion  consisted  mostly  of  hu- 
manity, for  he  was  a  regular  come-outer,  was  my 


IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 


267 


man.  He  lived  in  the  other  village,  Rockport 
Proper ;  his  name,  James  Grifjin.  Hurrying  over  to 
his  house,  I  soon  made  him  comprehend  the  situa- 
tion. He  did  not  say  he  had  no  boat  that  was  fit  to 
use,  or  that  he  could  not  find  any  men  to  go  with  us, 
or  that  he  had  been  almost  sick  for  two  or  three 
days,  or  that  if  the  men  had  lived  so  long,  they  could 
live  till  morning,  or  that,  if  we  should  be  lost,  who 
would  take  care  of  our  families ;  but  he  was  proud 
that  I  had  thought  of  him  first  of  all  the  fishermen 
among  the  hundreds  in  town. 

"  Go?  of  course  I  will  go.  But  the  first  thing  is 
a  boat.  Mine  is  not  large  enough,  but  I  can  take 
Uncle  Elwell's.  And  then  a  crew  :  brother  Joe  will 
go  for  one ;  Sam  Tarr,  for  another ;  and  Uncle  Harry, 
for  another  —  that  makes  a  crew.' 

"In  half  an  hour,  the  crew  were  on  board,  the 
moorings  cast  off,  and  the  boat,  with  both  sails  double 
reefed,  was  speeding  off  by  Salvages,  in  the  direc- 
tion of  George's  Shoals.  But  the  men  persisted  in 
leaving  me  behind.  'Why  so9'  'Because  you  are 
no  sailor,  and  will  be  of  no  use.' 

"Sheltering  myself  in  a  fish-house,  wearing  away 
the  slow  hours  of  the  cold  night  by  stamping  my  feet, 
and  going  to  the  wharf  occasionally,  and  looking 
out  for  a  returning  sail,  I  waited  till  the  day  was 
breaking,  when  the  boat  returned,  bearing  three 


268  /A"   CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 

more  of  the  missing  men,  picked  up  as  the  others 
had  been  the  previous  afternoon. 

"They  had  been  blown  off  fifty  miles  or  more,  but 
as  soon  as  the  moon  came  out,  and  the  wind  ceased 
its  fearful  blowing,  they  had  hoisted  their  little  sails, 
and,  steering  by  the  moon,  were  making,  by  long 
tacks,  their  way  homeward.  And  even  had  our  boat 
not  gone  after  them,  possibly  they  might  have  been 
saved,  though,  when  found,  one  had  nearly  perished 
with  cold.  The  following  morning  was  clear  and 
still.  Looking  out  over  the  bay,  we  could  see  a 
white  signal  on  Straitsmouth  Island.  Sending  a  boat 
thither,  two  more  of  the  missing  men  were  found 
there.  They  had  made  the  light,  after  sailing  most 
of  the  night.  Each  was  ignorant  of  the  presence  of 
the  other.  One  was  enabled  to  make  his  way  to  the 
house  of  the  light-keeper,  the  other  must  have  per- 
ished but  for  the  watchfulness  of  the  keeper's  dog, 
which  aroused  its  master.  The  last  two  men  made 
their  way  to  Milk  Island,  near  Salem,  and  thus  all 
of  that  large  number  of  imperilled  fishermen  were 
saved." 

This  was  the  Lieutenant's  first  story ;  his  second 
was  the  following : 

"In  Nashville,  I  witnessed  something  that  does  not 
occur  every  day.  A  gentleman  had  a  valuable  cow, 
that  furnished  our  company  with  milk  for  their  cof- 


IN  CAMP  AXD   HOSPITAL.  269 

fee.  Suddenly  the  supply  ceased,  much  to  the  sor- 
row of  our  coffee-drinkers.  The  owner  was  in  great 
trouble.  The  cow  was  not  only  sick,  but  no  one 
knew  what  ailed  her.  There  was  no  lack  of  physicians 
in  the  city.  There  were  Allopaths,  Homosopaths, 
Electropaths,  Eclectics,  Botanies,  Clairvoyants,  and 
what  not,  to  heal  humanity ;  but  no  professional,  or 
even  empirical,  cow-doctor.  Neighboring  farmers 
were  consulted,  but  whether  the  disease  was  horn- 
ail,  murrain,  swallowing  the  cud,  gastric-fever,  or 
cow  cholera,  no  one  could  determine,  or,  which  was 
more  discouraging,  no  one  could  prescribe  a  remedy 
that  did  the  poor  beast  any  good. 

"I  told  the  owner  there  was  a  teamster  up  in  one 
of  the  regiments  from  Michigan,  not  more  than  a 
mile  away,  who  pretended  to  cure  all  the  diseases 
that  horseflesh  was  heir  to,  and  that  the  teamsters 
had  great  faith  in  him. 

'"Will  you  ask  him  to  come  and  see  my  cow?' 

"'I  think  you  had  better  apply  to  him  your- 
self. He  is  a  little  sensitive.  He  has  had  some 
jokes  played  upon  him,  and  is  a  little  shy.  He  is 
really  a  most  excellent  man,  but  if  he  is  weak  in  any 
one  point,  it  is  in  his  medical  pretension.  Take 
your  carriage  and  go  up  with  me,  and,  if  he  is  in 
camp,  I  will  guarantee  that  he  shall  come.' 

"We  were  soon  in  camp,  and  the  doctor  was  feed- 


270 


IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 


ing  his  mules.  Introducing  my  friend,  and  telling 
the  professional  what  was  wanted  of  him,  I  said, 
'You  will  go,  of  course?' 

"'I  will  tell  you  in  a  minute.' 

"Shutting  his  eyes,  turning  his  face  upward,  as  if 
in  prayer,  gyrating  with  his  thumb  and  first  finger, 
he  delivered  himself  something  like  this  : 

"'O,  me-no-kish-nu-pa-pe-ri-non-sappe  no.' 

"'Yes,  I  will  go  and  cure  your  cow.' 

"  My  friend  was  about  to  leave  in  disgust,  thinking 
I  had  brought  him  to  see  a  crazy  man,  or  a  fool ; 
but  on  my  asking  him  to  give  the  man  a  trial,  he 
took  him  into  his  carriage,  and  started  back  to  the 
stable  as  speedily  as  possible,  evidently  ashamed 
of  his  undertaking. 

"Not  so  with  the  doctor.  To  be  sure,  he  was  not 
riding  in  a  professional  gig,  and  he  had  no  saddle- 
bags, and  every  one  he  met  did  not  say,  'Good- 
morning,  doctor ;'  and  the  good  ladies  did  not  throw 
up  their  windows,  and  ask  their  neighbors  if  they 
knew  who  was  sick,  for  the  doctor  had  just  gone  by. 
Little  children  did  not  run  in  and  tell  their  mothers 
that  the  doctor  that  brought  the  little  babies  had 
gone  by ;  but  he  felt  his  importance,  nevertheless. 
True,  he  was  not  going  to  doctor  the  Mayor  of  the 
city,  nor  one  of  the  Aldermen,  or  a  rich  man ;  but 
never  mind.  If  he  could  relieve  suffering,  it  was 


IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 


271 


enough  ;  but  then,  who  of  all  his  fellow-teamsters  had 
had  such  honors?  But  could  he  cure  the  cow?  Of 
course  he  could,  no  matter  what  the  malady.  The 
great  medicine-spirit,  whom  he  had  consulted  before 
consenting  to  go,  had  promised  to  give  him  the  heal- 
ing power  for  the  occasion. 

"Entering  the  barn  where  the  suffering  animal 
stood,  not  tied  in  a  stall,  but  having  the  range  of 
the  broad  threshing-floor,  he  saw  her  trembling  form, 
and  met  her  great  eyes  looking  pleadingly  into  his 
own,  and  heard  her  moan  for  relief. 

"'So!  so!  moolly!  Don't  be  afraid,  and  I  will 
help  you.' 

"Taking  off  his  mittens,  and  rolling  up  his  sleeves, 
with  the  air  of  an  M.  D.  making  his  first  diagnosis, 
and  issuing  his  first  call  for  two  cups,  a  teaspoon, 
and  some  fresh  water,  his  first  order  is, — 

"'Bring  a  pail  of  fresh  water!'  'Now  a  forkful 
of  the  brightest  hay  ! '  'Now  retire  ! ' 

'"What  is  that  for?'  inquires  the  astonished  owner. 

'"No  matter  what  it  is  for  !  Retire  at  once,  or  I 
will  not  cure  your  cow  !' 

"Obeying  the  doctor's  orders,  as  is  customary,  the 
interested  owner  peeked  through  a  crevice,  and  saw 
something  like  this  :  Placing  the  left  hand  on  the 
animal's  forehead,  shutting  his  eyes,  turning  his  face 
upward,  stretching  his  right  arm  upward  to  the  IV," 


272 


IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 


thest  tension,  he  exclaims,  'O,  mish-na  tau-ne !  a 
nap  -  e  -  cu  -  no  -  se  -  ma  -  ton  -  rik  -  su  -no-mas-from-capo- 
capo-lon!' 

"'Come  in,  neighbor,  your  cow  is  cured.'  And 
cured  she  was. 

"My  friend  gave  the  doctor  a  ten-dollar  greenback, 
and  took  him  back  to  the  regiment  in  his  carriage  ; 
but  whether  his  cow  was  cured  by  sorcery,  or  witch- 
craft, or  magnetism,  he  pretends  not  to  know.  His 
only  remark  was,  'Some  of  you  Yankees  are  queer 
fellows.  There  is  no  telling  what  you  may  do.  If 
the  devil  helps  any  man,  it  is  a  Yankee. ' " 

A  little  adventure  occasioned  by  selling  postage- 
stamps  shall  close  this  chapter,  though  it  did  not 
happen  in  Tennessee.  One  of  the  two  years'  regi- 
ments from  New  York  State  had  just  arrived  in 
Virginia,  and  gone  into  camp  some  three  miles  from 
Alexandria,  on  the  right  of  the  railroad  to  Eichmond. 
Having  spent  an  afternoon  and  evening  with  them, 
giving  my  accustomed  entertainment  of  song,  story, 
and  plea  for  temperance,  I  started  for  the  city  about 
nine  o'clock,  not  dreaming  of  danger. 

The  night  was  cloudy,  and  in  the  gloomiest  spot 
in  all  the  distance,  I  was  met  by  a  soldier,  who 
commanded  me  to  stop  in  these  pleasant  words,— 
"Halt !"  an  oath,  "or  I  will  put  this  through  you  ! " 


AV  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 


2  73 


I  saw  I  had  to  deal  with  a  robber  instead  of  a  picket- 
guard.  Pulling  out  my  tin  cylinder  containing 
stamps,  and  pointing  it  at  him,  I  assured  the  gentle- 
man that  if  he  advanced  a 'step  towards  me  I  would 
shoot  him  him  at  once.  It  was  lucky  for  me  that 
it  was  dark,  for  he  could  not  see  that  I  was  unarmed. 
We  were  evidently  both  scared.  But  having  a  stout 
pair  of  lungs,  I  cried  "Murder!"  so  loudly,  that  I 
was  heard  a  mile.  "Where?"  answered  a  guard  a 
long  distance  away.  "  Here  !  "  The  robber  took  to 
his  heels,  and  I  followed.  But,  fortunately,  he  went 
in  the  direction  of  another  guard,  who  halted  and 
secured  him.  He  proved  to  be  a  member  of  the  4th 
IT.-  S.  Artillery,  doing  duty  at  the  time  at  Fort 
Ellsworth.  He  was  taken  before  Col.  Wells,  of 
Massachusetts,  then  Military  Governor  of  the  dis- 
trict, when  he  confessed  his  crime  and  begged  for 
mercy.  He  had  seen  me  selling  stamps,  and  knew 
I  must  have  money,  and  had  lain  in  wait  for  me.  He 
was  sent  to  prison. 

A  month  after  this,  I  saw  a  thousand  men  come 
from  Libby  prison,  and  they  reminded  me  of  my 
soldier.  Receiving  permission  to  visit  him,  I  found 
the  poor  fellow  in  but  little  better  condition  than  the 
boys  who  had  just  come  fro'm  rebel  keepers.  He 
was  literally  covered  with  vermin.  Hastening  back 
18 


274 


IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 


to  the  Colonel,  I  begged  of  him  to  release  the  poor 
fellow,  and  let  him  go  to  his  regiment.  The  last  I 
ever  saw  of  him  was  at  his  prison-door,  when  he 
gave  me  his  hand,  and  said,  "  I  know  you  forgive 
me,  or  you  would  not  have  got  me  out  of  this.  I 
will  remember  you  as  long  as  I  live." 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

BRANDY-STATION,    MARCH,    1864. 

THE  third  winter  of  the  war  has  closed,  yet  as 
late  as  the  first  of  the  month,  twelve  inches  of  snow, 
besides  the  large  amount  that  melted,  accumulated 
between  4  p.  M.  and  8  A.  M.,  remaining  less  than 
two  days.  A  bird's-eye  view  of  the  Army  of  the 
Potomac  may  pay  the  reader  for  his  time.  During 
the  past  winter  there  have  been  six  corps,  but  now 
they  have  been  consolidated  into  four.  McClellan 
had  been  removed,  reinstated,  and  re-removed. 
Burnside  and  Joe  Hooker  had  attempted  to  win 
victories,  without  any  striking  results.  John  Pope, 
with  his  "  headquarters  in  the  saddle,"  had  made  his 
splurge.  Though  if  the  verdict  in  the  Porter  court- 
martial  was  just,  this  officer,  more  than  Pope,  is  re- 
sponsible for  the  second  Bull  Run  disaster.  This 
Army  has  lost,  one  way  and  another,  upwards  of  a 
hundred  thousand  men,  and  yet  it  now  has  from 
eighty  to  a  hundred  thousand  in  the  field  for  another 
"On  to  Richmond." 


376  IN    CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 

But  who  is  to  lead  the  panoplied  hosts  this  time  ? 
Back  on  the  rising  ground,  a  mile  south  of  the  Rap- 
pahannock,  and  three-fourths  of  a  mile  from  Brandy- 
Station,  are  the  headquarters  of  a  tall,  stooping, 
round-shouldered,  very  plain  mail,  with  much  more 
than  ordinary  brain,  but  with  so  little  assurance, 
craft,  and  magnetism,  that  he  wins  but  moderate 
confidence.  None  sing  his  praises.  He  is  expected 
to  do  well  always,  but  never  great  deeds.  The 
glory  of  Gettysburg  is  scarcely  seen.  Many  think 
that  a  greater  General  would  have  captured  Lee's 
army.  Yet,  who  of  all  the  commanders  of  that 
army  have  done  so  well  as  Meade  ?  He  had  met  with 
no  disaster,  never  changed  his  base,  like  McClellan, 
and  never  attempted  impossibilities,  like  Burnside. 
He  had  never  made  any  boasts  that  his  headquarters 
would  be  iu  his  saddle.  If  they  were,  one  thing  is 
certain,  his  saddle  was  always  to  be  found,  and  its 
crupper  was  never  towards  the  enemy. 

Perhaps  Sedgwick  is  to  be  the  leader  this  time. 
His  headquarters  are  two-thirds  of  a  mile  north  of 
Meade's,  and  he  is  still  in  command  of  the  Sixth 
Corps.  On  the  left  of  the  railroad,  and  farther  in 
advance,  is  Hancock,  with  his  famous  Second  Corps. 
Some  say  he  is  to  be  the  leader.  But,  brave  and  ca- 
pable as  are  both  of  these  men,  they  have  no  record 
like  Gettysburg  to  inspire  confidence.  Burnside 


IN  CAMP  AND    HOSPITAL. 


277 


was  thought  equal  to  a  corps,  but  not  to  a  Com- 
ma nder-in-Chief.  Meade  is  to  be  the  leader,  at  least, 
so  most  of  the  Army  wish  ;  yet  the  papers  that  are 
brought  iuto  camp  tell  us  that  the  hero  of  Shiloh, 
Pittsburg-Landing,  and  Vicksburg,  is  coming  hither 
for  that  purpose. 

But  whoever  assumes  that  position,  will  find  a 
large  part  of  the  troops  are  veterans.  True,  in  every 
regiment  there  are  many  recruits  ;  but  all  are  not  raw, 
as  in  the  swamps  of  the  Chickahominy.  In  the 
Sixth  Corps  are  the  £th,  6th,  and  7th  Maine, 
the  33d,  43d,  49th,  and  121st  New  York,  the  62d 
and  9Gth  Pennsylvania,  and  the  famous  Vermont 
Brigade  of  five  regiments.  In  the  Fifth  Corps 
are  tha  2nd,  6th,  and  7th  Wisconsin,  the  19th 
Indiana,  the  20th  Michigan,  and  the  16th  Maine. 
In  the  First  Corps  are  the  3d,  4th,  and  17th  Maine", 
the  Sharpshooters,  and  other  equally  excellent  and 
experienced  regiments.  Hancock's  Second  Corps 
being  the  largest  of  the  four,  is  thought  to  be  at 
least  equal,  if  not  superior,  in  fighting  qualities  to 
any  in  this  army.  It  contains  the  famous  Irish 
Brigade,  which,  in  the  larger  part  of  the  battles 
fought  thus  far,  has  been  held  as  reserves,  doing 
noble  service  on  many  occasions.  We  hear  that 
Burnside  is  coming  up  from  Norfolk,  with  his  Ninth 
Corps,  to  swell  our  numbers,  ere  the  long  roll  is 


278  IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 

beaten.  The  Fifth  Corps,  under  Warren,  guard  the 
railroad  from  Alexandria  to  Mitchell's  Station,  a 
point  near  the  north  bank  of  the  Rapidan.  At  this 
place  there  is  a  brigade,  apparently  to  watch  the 
movements  of  the  enemy,  and  check  him,  should  he 
attempt  to  cross  the  river  for  an  attack.  The  cav- 
alry are  somewhat  scattered ;  but  a  considerable 
portion  of  them  are  encamped  near  this  station. 
Yonder,  across  the  river,  on  the  hills,  are  the  tents 
of  Lee.  One  of  his  heavy  guns  could  throw  a  shell 
into  our  camp  at  pleasure  ;  -but  there  is  little  fear  of 
it ;  for  shooting  for  fun  ceased  on  both  sides  long 
ago.  There  is  horror  enough  in  battles,  without 
maiming  and  killing  men  in  wantonness. 

But  word  has  reached  us  that  a  new  Commander 
is  already  in  Washington,  and  will  come  to  the  front 
in  a  few  days.  But  who  cares?  The  soldiers  have 
hurrahed,  and  thrown  up  their  caps  for  McClellan, 
and  all  the  other  chieftains  in  turn.  Every  one  but 
Meade  had  proved  a  failure,  and  now  they -are  going 
to  wait.  They  know  of  Grant's  achievements.  There 
is  not  a  boy  in  all  the  ranks  but  can  tell  us  of  the 
victories  he  has  gained.  But  Vicksburg  and  Shiloh 
are  a  long  distance  off.  "What  is  Pemberton 
compared  with  Lee  ?  Let  him  measure  strength  with 
this  long-headed  old  rebel;  let  Grant  circumvent 
him,  and  then  we  will  hurrah  as  loud  as  the  loudest." 


IN"  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 


279 


General  Grant  is  to  be  here  in  the  next  train,  and 
yonder  it  is  coming,  slowly  crossing  the  Rappahan- 
nock.  Five  minutes  more,  and  he  is  here.  There 
are  but  two  passenger  coaches,  one  containing  a 
guard,  the  other  the  General  and  one  or  two  of  his 
staff.  He  is  smoking,  and  that  is  nearly  all  there  is 
noticeable  about  him.  His-  dress  is  very  plain,  eyes 
half  closed,  he  takes  little  or  no  notice  of  anything, 
and  could  we  have  seen  him  for  the  first  time,  with 
a  crowd  of  Brigadiers  belonging  to  this  Army,  he  is 
the  last  man  we  would  have  selected  for  the  Com- 
mander-in-Chief. 

But  how  does  the  Army  receive  him?  How  do 
the  crowd  of  curious  soldiers  welcome  him  ?  Cannot 
tell ;  for  there  is  no  crowd.  A  small  fight  between 
two  negroes  would  call  out  twice  as  many  as  have 
come  to  see  General  Grant  make  his  first  appearance 
in  the  Army  of  the  Potomac  !  Did  General  Meade 
turn  out  the  Hawkins  Zouaves,  encamped  at  his 
headquarters,  to  receive  him?  Was  the  finest  band 
in  the  Army  detailed  to  honor  him  with  "Hail  to  the 
Chief,"  and  the  "  Star-Spangled  Banner  "  ?  Not  at 
all.  A  verv  few  officers,  and  as  many  men,  came, 
took  a  hasty  glance,  and  have  now  gone  back  to 
their  quarters,  most  of  them  shaking  their  heads, 
and  some  saying,  "Big  thing."  The  only  noticeable 
remarks  I  heard  were  one  from  a  soldier,  and  one 


2So  IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 

from  an  officer  of  the  6th  Cavalry.  "I  guess  he  has 
got  something  hefty  in  his  head,  by  the  way  it  has 
settled  into  his  body.  At  any  rate,  I  would  like  to 
swap  my  pipe  for1  his  cigar.  He  smokes  like  a 
judge  of  the  weed." 

"  General  Grant  will  do  well  enough  if  he  is  not 
strangled  with  red  tape  at  Washington,  as  Little 
Mac  was  ;  but  he  is  a  West  Pointer,  and  it  is  some 
satisfaction  that  a  booby  from  the  Volunteers  is  not 
placed  over  us." 

Phil.  Sheridan  has  been  here  a  week  or  more, 
with  headquarters  at  that  house  near  the  Rappahan- 
iiock.  The  Quartermasters  are  busy  as  bees  issuing 
clothing,  squads  of  recruits  are  being  drilled  twice  a 
day,  every  ravine  in  the  neighborhood  is  appropri- 
ated for  rifle-practice,  and  from  10  to  12,  also  from 
2  to  4,  the  General's  orderly,  cantering  his  horse  as 
if  the  rebels  were  upon  us,  and  the  camp-follower, 
with  his  traps,  had  best  give  these  ravines  a  wide 
berth  ;  for  "ping-e"  comes  a  pointed  bullet  so  close  to 
your  face  that  you  feel  the  wind  --f  it.  In  a  moment 
there  is  another  of  different  sound,  but  equally 
dangerous.  It  has  struck  a  stone,  and  its  shape  is 
altered,  and  it  comes  spluttering  by,  striking  a 
tree  twenty  rods  beyond.  Notices  are  posted  at  tho 
Provost-Marshal's  tent  (Gen.  Patrick) ,  warning  all 
persons,  not  members  of  the  Army,  or  connected 


IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL.  2Sl 

with  the  Sanitary  or  the  Christian  Commission,  to 
leave  on  or  before  the  16th  inst.  All  persons  found 
within  the  lines  after  this  date  will  be  arrested  and 
put  to  hard  labor.  The  watch-pedlars  and  repairers, 
the  Daguerreians,  the  memorial  agents,  the  station- 
ery-pedlars, the  officers'  wives,  and  the  females  in 
general,  the  visitors,  the  clergymen  who  have  come 
down  to  spend  a  week  in  sight-seeing  and  preaching, 
all  are  getting  ready  to  leave  ;  for  the  Army  is  soon 
to  move.  Dear  wife,  tarry  as  long  as  you  can,  but 
you  must  go  at  last.  You  have  tried  to  leave  with 
a  brave  heart,  and  keep  back  the  tears  when  you 
gave  the  parting  kiss ;  but  when  the  tree  from 
which  your  husband  has  just  plucked  that  peach- 
branch  in  bud  shall  drop  its  ripened  fruit,  you  Avill 
have  been  for  months  a  widow.  Give  your  most 
loving  kisses,  for  they  will  be  his  last  on  earth. 
How  blessed  that  the  future  is  veiled  !  You  have  as 
much  as  your  woman's  heart  can  bear  now,  but  a 
blow  is  coming  that  will  crush  you  for  a  time. 

Falling  in  with  Col.  Walker,  of  the  4th  Maine,  he 
invites  me  to  sleep  in  his  tent  for  the  night.  We 
are  ready  to  move,  at  a  few  hours'  notice.  We  shall 
not  be  astonished  to  hear  the  long-roll  at  any  hour 
after  midnight.  The  rebels  may  come  upon  us,  but 
the  probabilities  are  that  we  shall  move  on  them.  It 
is  midnight,  or  past.  No  sound  but  that  of  the 


282  IN"  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 

slow-pacing  sentinel,  near  the  Colonel's  tent,  and  of 
changing  the  camp-guard  every  two  hours.  All  are 
sleeping,  some  in  oblivion,  others  dreaming  of  home, 
or,  perhaps,  living  over  again  the  war  scenes  of  the 
past,  when  suddenly  every  sleeper  springs  from  his 
couch,  peers  out  into  the  dark,  and  endeavors  to 
learn  what  has  happened.  Are  the  rebels  upon  us? 
Whence  came  that  bomb,  that  startled  the  camp  from 
its  slumbers  ?  Who  is  killed  ?  or  who  hurt  ?  But  a 
loud  laugh  comes  from  a  group  around  a  heap  of  live 
embers,  and  soon  the  mystery  is  solved.  Half  a 
dozen  hungry  fellows  thought  a  meal  of  baked  beans 
would  be  a  great  luxury ;  so,  while  others  slept,  they 
prepared  the  article,  properly  accompanied  with 
water,  meat  and  salt,  securely  protected  from  ashes  in 
a  Dutch  oven,  and  collecting  the  dryest  limbs  from 
the  grove  where  we  are  encamped,  made  their  fire 
about  the  tempting  meal,  and  meditated  on  the 
next  morning's  breakfast.  "Anybody  could  have 
beans,  if  not  too  lazy  too  cook  them.  Sleep  away, 
sluggards  !  Will  not  they  wish  to  be  invited  to 
breakfast  to-morrow  morning?  We  can  bake  beans, 
but  it  takes  our  mothers  to  make  the  brown  bread, 
and,  of  all  mothers,  mine  makes  the  best.  But, 
blast  the  fire ;  it  don't  work  right.  It  is  either  too 
hot,  or  not  enough  of  it.  Not  a  stone  within  half  a 
mile,  to  keep  the  coals  about  the  oven.  Ah  !  now  I 


IN  CAMP  AND    HOSPITAL.  283 

think  of  just  what  we  want.  Up  by  the  sutler's 
tent  there  are  some  old  shells,  and  they  will  serve  as 
well  as  stones.  Here  are  four ;  now  we  are  all  right, 
and  we  will  doze  a  little  while  the  beans  are  cook- 
ing." The  first  dream  is  hardly  finished,  and,  bang  ! 
goes  a  twelve-pound  shell ;  the  beans,  pork,  water, 
fragments  of  the  Dutch  oven,  embers,  half-burnt 
sticks,  and  ashes  are  scattered  on  the  luckless  cooks, 
two  are  slightly  wounded,  the  camp  is  aroused  as  if 
the  enemy  were  upon  us,  and  the  night-watchers 
around  that  oven  have  lost  their  appetite  for  pork 
and  beans. 

Near  by  is  the  mansion  of  John  Minor  Botts.  It 
is  an  old-style,  square  house,  painted  white,  about 
the  size  of  the  larger  class  of  farm-houses  in  New 
England  and  New  York.  On  the  north  and  west, 
and  a  few  rods  distant,  are  small  houses,  mostly  of 
logs,  but  some  of  frame,  perhaps  eight  or  ten  in 
number,  occupied  by  the  colored  people.  The  plan- 
tation consists  of  a  few  hundred  acres,  the  land  of 
most  excellent  quality,  though  cursed  with  garlic. 
It  is  quite  level,  and  the  lawn,  a  short  distance  from 
the  house,  makes  a  splendid  field  for  reviewing  a 
division.  When  this  takes  place,  the  proprietor  is 
usually  present,  riding  with  the  officers,  and  treated 
with  much  consideration.  If  he  is  not  in  full  accord 


284  IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 

with  the  general  sentiment  of  the  Xorth,  he  is  no 
rebel. 

Not  far  from  Botts'  house  is  a  temporary  long 
building,  occupied  by  some  accomplished  officers, 
every  one  of  whom  prides  himself  on  having  gradu- 
ated at  West  Point.  To  have  been  educated  in  this 
institution,  at  the  people's  expense,  seems  to  have 
been  a  matter  of  great  pride  among  all  whom  I  had 
an  opportunity  to  sound.  Said  a  Sergeant,  in  my 
hearing,  "I  had  rather  be  a  Sergeant  in  the  regular 
army,  and  feel  that  I  have  a  thorough  military  edu- 
cation, than  a  Brigadier  of  volunteers."  Know- 
ing we  are  to  make  an  advance  shortly,  the  aforesaid 
officers  have  invited  a  large  number  of  their  com- 
panions to  a  sort  of  banquet.  None  but  AVest  Point- 
ers are  invited.  There  are  twenty-five,  perhaps 
more,  at  the  supper.  '  Servants,  not  black,  but 
white,  and  armed,  stand  outside,  holding  their  own 
and  their  masters'  horses.  It  is  hardly  such  a  ban- 
quet as  would  be  prepared  in  Washington.  There 
is  no  roast  turkey,  roast  pork,  or  plum-pudding. 
There  are  not  oysters  stewed,  fried  in  crumbs,  and 
raw.  But  if  not  a  great  variety  of  food,  there 
is  a  plenty  of  drink. 

The  first  thing  to  be  emptied  is  a  keg  of  beer. 
As  it  holds  but  eight  or  ten  gallons,  the  dispensing 
of  this  requires  but  little  time,  and  Julius,  the  col- 


IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 


285 


ored  boy,  is  ordered  to  roll  in  another,  and  knock 
out  the  head.  But  there  are  some  who  want  some- 
thing stronger,  and  there  are  demijohns  of  whiskey, 
in  readiness  for  them. 

"But,"  says  the  reader,  "why  are  you  present? 
You  are  neither  an  officer  nor  a  reporter."  The 
reader  will  please  bear  in  mind  that  when  anything 
out  of  the  ordinary  course  takes  place  in  civil  life, 
the  singer  or  musician  is  wanted.  If  a  President, 
Governor,  or  even  Mayor,  is  chosen,  or  if  a  person 
of  distinction  is  married,  or  there  is  a  feast,  the  musi- 
cian is  wanted.  I  am  at  the  banquet  because  I  can 
sing. 

The  feast  proceeds.  Was  there  ever  a  more  po- 
lite class  of  men  assembled  ?  It  is  said  that  women 
are  necessary  to  prevent  the  display  of  coarse  man- 
ners on  occasions  like  this.  Not  a  bit  of  it.  Po- 
lite, suave,  using  great  care  to  select  the  proper 
prefix  in  addressing  each  other,  as,  "Shall  I  have  the 
honor,  Major?"  And  "Will  you  allow  me,  Cap- 
tain ?"  And,  "Gentlemen,  it  gives  us  great  pleasure 
to  welcome  so  many  of  our  companions  in  arms  1 " 
'•  You  are  hardly  doing  justice  to  our  humble  fare, 
Lieutenant ;  but  I  trust  you  will  find  us  better  pre- 
pared when  the  cloth  is  removed  !" 

If  there  is  one  topic  more  prominent  than  any 
other,  it  is  General  McClellan.  Says  one,  alluding, 


2S6  IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 

of  course,  to  General  Grant,  "We  have  good  and 
noble  superiors.  We  have  had  them  before.  But 
first  and  last,  give  me  Little  Mac.  Fill  your  cups, 
gentlemen.  Now,  a  bumper  for  Little  Mac.  ! — a  man 
who  knows  the  difference  between  a  military  and  a 
saw-mill  education.  Hurrah  for  Little  Mac.  !" 

"Gentlemen,  allow  me,  if  you  please.  Julius, 
fill  the  eiips!  Here  is  to  our  hosts  for  their  boun- 
tiful cheer,  for  their  unwavering  friendship,  and  for 
their  esprit  du  corps/  " 

All  drain  their  cups,  followed  by  a  brief  speech 
from  some  one  in  reply  to  the  compliment. 

"  Gentlemen,  another  bumper,  if  you  please,  to 
General  George  B.  McClellan ! "  The  cups  are 
emptied,  and  three  times  three  given  for  the  old 
and  loved  Commander. 

"Now  for  a  song.  Give  us  'Marching  on  to 
Eichmond.'  Let  us  have  the  music,  and  we  will  all 
join  in  the  chorus  ! " 

Giving  them  the  song,  I  had  their  help  on  the 
chorus,  and  with  twenty  voices  we  made  the  build- 
ing ring,— 

"Then  tramp  away,  while  the  bugles  play, 
We're  marching  on  to  Richmond ; 
Our  flag  shall  gleam  in  the  morning  beam, 
From  many  a  spire  in  Eichmond." 


IN   CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL.  287 

"Three  cheers  for  the  song  and  singer!  Now 
give  us  'McClellan  is  our  Man,'  and  we  will  give 
you  the  chorus  strong  !  "  This  is  sung  with  enthu- 
siasm. 

I  was  about  to  retire,  when  one  of  them  inquired : 

"Have  you  the  countersign?" 

"I  have  not." 

"Then  you  had  better  remain,  or  you  may  get  into 
some  of  the  guard-houses,  in  picking  your  way  to 
the  station." 

There  was  no  choice  for  me ;  I  must  remain  in  statu 
quo.  Songs  were  sung,  stories  told,  and  both  were 
good ;  and  I  wondered  why  I  was  invited  to  sing, 
when  others  present  could  excel  me.  But  soon  a 
good  story  and  a  good  song  were  not  satisfactory. 
The  drinking  continued.  One  became  noisy,  and 
wished  to  fight ;  another  struck  a  servant  not  his 
•  own,  and  this  offended  the  master,  and  a  quarrel  was 
imminent.  More  drink.  It  is  now  two  o'clock. 
The  servants  outside  are  impatient,  but  they  must 
remain.  They  are  hired  to  wait  upon  their  em- 
ployers, drunk  or  sober.  A  small  party  retire,  but 
the  most  drunken  ones  remain.  Obscene  stories  and 
songs  follow.  Staggering  men  try  to  march.  If  one 
cannot  march  alone,  he  will  try  it  with  a  comrade. 
At  length  a  large  box  is  brought  in ;  and  what  is 
wanted  of  this?  O,  it  is  to  represent  a  pulpit,  and 


288  IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 

the  foulest-mouthed  man  in  the  party  shall  be  a  min- 
ister. Will  he  pretend  to  preach  or  pray?  Not 
quite  that ;  but  he  will  recite  the  most  vulgar  lines 
he  can  think  of,  and  all  will  pretend  to  sing  them. 

But  what  a  scene  is  this,  and  each  man  proud  of  his 
education  !  Proud  that  he  is  a  soldier,  and  a  grad- 
uate of  West  Point !  Photographs  of  some  of  these 
men  hang  in  parlors,  and  grace  albums,  revered  by 
parents  whose  sons  are  intrusted  to  their  care,  and 
loved  by  truest  souls  who  never  wake  or  sleep  with- 
out thought  of  their  soldier-lover.  And  these  are 
the  men  who  are  expected  to  set  an  example  to  our 
private  soldiers  !  And  think  of  the  situation  !  Yon- 
der on  the  hills,  across  the  Rapidan,  are  Lee's  tents, 
flashing  in  the  moonbeams.  Is  that  army  so  insignifi- 
cant that  our  officers  can  hold  drunken  orgies  almost 
within  shell-range?  What  if  Lee  sees  fit  to  attack 
with  the  morning  light  ?  Are  these  men  fit  for  ser- 
vice? Fit?  Indeed,  in  one  hour  many  of  them  are 
like  dead  men ;  and,  if  a  battle  shall  come  in  the 
morning,  it  will  be  well  for  them,  and  those  under 
them,  and  the  cause  they  are  here  to  defend,  if  they 
shall  be  left  to  sleep.  Drunken  men  in  battle  are 
worse  than  none. 

From  that  night  to  this  day,  I  have  been  deeply 
prejudiced  against  West  Point.  Many  of  those  edu- 
cated with  the  people's  money  ignore  religion,  the 


Z2V   CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL.  289 

Sabbath,  Sunday-schools,  and  despise  the  people  who 
pay  their  bills.  It  is  gratifying  to  know  that  many 
noble  men  were  educated  there,  conspicuous  among 
whose  names  are  those  of  Sedgwick,  McPherson, 
Kearney,  Phil.  Sheridan,  Thomas,  Sherman,  and 
Grant.  But  any  word  I  may  write  will  be  of  no 
avail;  so  I  will  simply  say  that,  when  the  move- 
ment already  inaugurated  for  a  proper  observance 
of  the  Sabbath  in  that  institution  shall  have  become 
a  success,  I  hope  that  the  drinking  habits  of  the 
cadets  may  be  looked  after.  I  saw  enough  in  the 
Army,  among  those  educated  at  the  nation's  military 
school,  to  convince  me  that  abstemiousness,  or  even 
moderate  drinking,  among  the  graduates,  is  the  ex- 
ception rather  than  the  rule. 

But  there  is  time  to  see  something  more  before 
the  long-roll  is  beaten.  Going  up  to  the  17th  Maine, 
we  find  one  of  the  most  convenient  chapels  in  the 
Army.  It  is  not  kept  for  show,  but  use,  and  we 
will  have  a  temperance  meeting  here  to-night.  In  the 
morning  we  will  go  down  among  the  Pennsylvania 
regiments,  across  the  railroad,  and  attend  their 
prayer-meetings.  They  have  had  a  revival  season, 
and  hundreds  have  been  converted.  Twice  a  day, 
and  every  evening,  the  chapel,  a  temporary  aifair, 
constructed  of  logs,  and  large  enough  to  accommo- 
date three  hundred,  is  filled  with  praying  and  singing 
19 


290 


IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 


men.  They  have  found  the  Great  Captain  of  their  sal- 
vation, and  he  is  precious  to  their  souls.  To-morrow 
evening  we  will  go  and  see  that  model  Chaplain,  Rev. 
John  Adams,  of  Gorham,  Maine.  He  was  appointed 
to  the  office  the  first  of  the  war,  in  the  5th  Maine, 
and  nobly  has  he  discharged  his  duties.  A  minister 
of  the  Congregational  Church,  not  remarkable  for 
brilliancy,  or  power,  or,  in  fact,  any  element  which 
gives  a  man  distinction  in  the  eyes  of  the  world,  but 
a  man  eminently  qualified  for  his  position.  Boom- 
ing cannon,  screeching  shells,  whistling  bullets,  do 
not  terrify  him.  Tireless  at  his  post,  not  only 
praying,  but  watching  with  the  sick  ;  not  only  earnest 
in  the  prayer-meeting,  but  a  chief  worker  in  the 
regimental  temperance  society,  he  is  a  man,  a  brother, 
a  Christian.  Noble  man,  how  unlike  many  I  could 
name  ! 

But  let  us  call  a  few  minutes  at  the  tent  of  the 
Provost-Marshal.  We  shall  not  be  likely  to  see 
General  Patrick,  unless  our  business  is  special,  and 
of  importance  ;  but  his  most  efficient  officer,  Captain 
Beckwith,  is  present,  also  another  young  officer, 
either  of  whom  will  answer  any  question.  The 
former  is  small  in  stature,  with  a  keen  eye,  and  a 
talent  for  expediting  business.  If  you  wish  to  go  to 
Washington,  your  pass  will  be  ready  in  two  minutes. 
If  you  have  just  arrived  at  the  front,  and  wish  your 


IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 


291 


pass  countersigned,  so  that  you  may  visit  any  corps 
without  molestation,  you  will  have  to  wait  but  a  few 
minutes,  unless  some  extraordinary  business  takes 
up  his  time. 

But  who  comes  here?  A  muscular  man,  forty 
years  old,  in  irons,  not  simply  in  handcuffs,  but  his 
limbs  bound  together,  so  that  he  can  scarcely  walk. 

And  such  a  countenance  !  and  such  an  eye  !  Ho 
is  not  a  Northern  man ;  you  see  this  at  a  glance ; 
nor  a  Kentuckian,  though  the  large  black  eye  might 
indicate  it.  He  is  .short,  broad-shouldered,  reso- 
lute, undaunted,  unquailing,  with  head  erect,  and 
ready  for  any  ordeal.  Captain  Beckwith  raises  his 
voice  to  a  high  pitch,  and  with  as  much  harshness  as 
he  can  assume,  commences, — 

"How  came  you  here?" 

"I  was  brought  here,  sir,  in  these  irons,  as  you 
see." 

"Do  you  belong  in  Virginia?" 

"No  sir." 

"Why  are  you  in  Virginia?" 

"I  came,  sir,  on  business." 

"On  what  business?" 

"To  find  a  Mend." 

"What  is  that  friend's  name?** 

"Abraham  Von  Coit,  sir." 

"Where  does  he  reside?" 


292 


IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 


"I  find  he  is  dead ;  but  I  did  not  know  it  till  I 
reached  his  late  residence." 

"Where  did  he  live?" 

"About  three  miles  from  Culpepper  Court  House, 
East." 

"Where  do  you  reside?" 

"In  the  city  of  New  York." 

"Have  you  a  pass?" 

"I  have,  sir." 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  you  are  a  Northern  man?" 

"I  am  now,  sir;  but  I  formerly  lived  in  Texas. 
I  am  partly  Spanish,  on  my  mother's  side  ;  but  I  am 
as  loyal  a  man  as  you  are." 

Turning  to  the  men  who  brought  him  in,  the  Cap- 
tain inquires,  "Why  is  he  ironed,  if  he  had  a  pass?" 

"We  found  him  visiting  a  rebel  family ;  and  not 
answering  us  respectfully,  in  fact  he  was  insulting 
in  his  answers,  we  arrested  him  as  a  spy." 

I  did  not  hear  the  decision.  He  may,  or  may  not, 
be  a  spy ;  but  now  the  scene  shifts,  and  another 
character  approaches.  A  tall,  gaunt  Virginian,  of 
sixty,  enters  the  office,  with  a  polite  and  deferential 
bow,  and  commences  somewhat  in  this  strain : 

"Your  Honors  !  An  impudent  negro  boy,  whom 
I  have  treated  with  unmerited  kindness  for  thirty 
years,  has  not  only  run  off  himself,  but  has  taken 
the  best  mule  on  the  place,  and  the  best  female 


IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 


293 


house-servant  I  ever  had.  I  do  not  ask  you  to  as- 
sist me  in  recovering  him,  but  I  am  anxious  to  re- 
cover Eliza  and  the  mule." 

Before  Captain  Beckwith  can  make  any  reply,  the 
very  same  darkey,  who  has  been  at  the  door  all  the 
while,  and  heard  all  that  has  been  said,  puts  in  his 
appearance,  and  claims  to  be  heard.  His  left  leg  is 
at  least  four  inches  shorter  than  the  right.  He  is  ill- 
looking,  but  resolute.  "I  say,  tnas'r,  what  dis  old  man 
say  am  part  true,  and  part  not  true.  As  to  mysef, 
I  owns  up  to  runnin  away.  But  I  did  dat  more  nor 
a  year  ago.  And  when  he  cum  arter  me  he  promise 
to  pay  me  wages.  I's  worked  fai'ful  more  nor  a 
year,  and  not  a  cent  can  I  get.  And  when  I  axes 
him  for  de  money,  he  calls  me  a  sassy  nigger,  and  so 
I  jes  takes  rnysef  off  again.  And,  now,  about  his 
house-servant,  why  bress  his  ole  soul,  Lize  is  my 
wife.  I  didn't  run  away  wid  her.  She  went  off  wid 
me.  I  did  not  help  her  at  all.  If  he  had  paid  me, 
as  he  promise,  he  would  hab  me,  and  Lize  too.  But 
dat  mule  !  I  reckon  dat  was  de  mose  valublest  mule 
yer  ever  did  see.  Why  he  am  always  so  poor  it 
take  till  August  to  git  his  ole  coat  off,  and  he  got  so 
ole  he  can't  holler  for  corn.  Dat  mule  !  what  does 
he  specks  Lize  and  I  want  ob  his  ole  half-blind 
mule  ?  I  knows  nuffing  at  all  about  it.  But,  not  to 


294 


IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 


be  hard,  I  jes  says  now,  if  de  old  man  will  pay  me 
what  he  owe  me,  Lize  and  I  will  go  back." 

The  poor  old  Virginian  finds  no  consolation.  The 
Army  has  given  up  the  business  of  catching  and  re- 
turning negroes,  and  the  lame  darkey  and  his  wife 
can  do  as  they  please  about  returning  with  the  old 
man. 

The  work  of  preparation  is  done.  The  men  are 
clothed,  every  wagon  and  ambulance  in  order,  there 
is  a  spare  wheel  for  every  gun-carriage,  and  a  plenty 
of  ammunition  for  every  arm  of  the  service.  Look 
where  you  may,  and  everything  is  in  readiness.  Ere 
the  day  dawns  the  long-roll  is  heard  in  every  camp. 
"  Fall  in,  four  rank !  Forward,  march  ! "  Far  be- 
hind us  are  our  homes,  but  a  few  leagues  in  front  we 
are  going  to  blood,  carnage  and  death. 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

MONEY-MAKING  IN  THE  ARMY. 

IN  looking  at  a  field  of  growing  grass  or  grain,  if  we 
observe  one  portion  with  a  much  greener  and  ranker 
growth  than  the  rest,  we  invariably  conclude  that 
the  noticeable  spot  has  had  an  application  of  vege- 
table or  animal  substances  in  decomposition.  That 
rich  grain  we  so  much  admire  is  the  substance  of 
other  forms  that  have  disappeared.  The  cow  that 
came  nightly  to  yield  her  milk,  the  sheep  that  every 
summer  gave  their  fleeces  for  clothing,  the  horse 
that  carried  the  heavy  burdens  of  a  family  for  a 
fifth  of  a  century,  are  dead,  but  perhaps  their  con- 
stituent parts  are  seen  in  that  growing  grain  of 
deepest  green.  In  every  city  and  town  in  our 
Northern  and  Western  country,  many  of  the  most 
costly  dwellings  grew  out  of  the  war.  Hundreds  of 
thousands  perished,  but  not  a  few  were  enriched. 

Yonder  is  a  private  residence  that  cost  a  hundred 
thousand  dollars.  Ten  years  ago  the  proprietor  was 
a  small  dealer  in  ready-made  clothing.  Now  he  is 
(295) 


296  IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 

worth  half  a  million,  keeps  his  coachman  and  foot- 
man, and  scarcely  knows  the  man  who  gave  him 
credit  on  his  first  bill  of  goods.  He  obtained  an 
army-clothing  contract,  through  a  politician,  and, 
dividing  the  profits,  both  made  fortunes.  The  owner 
of  a  shoddy  mill,  the  brogan  manufacturer,  the  pro- 
vision contractors,  the  cattle,  horse  and  mule-brokers, 
the  powder,  ball  and  shell  manufacturers,  the  sta- 
tioners and  printers,  and  the  middle-men  of  all 
classes,  made  money  out  of  the  war. 

A  mass  meeting  is  called,  men  and  women,  old 
and  young,  rich  and  poor,  assemble.  Eloquent  men 
go  on  the  rostrum,  and  by  every  art  of  the  orator, 
and  by  appeals  to  the  holiest  sentiments  of  the  hu- 
man heart,  the  people  are  stirred  to  the  very  depths 
of  their  souls.  They  who  have  money  give,  and 
they  who  have  sons  pledge  them,  and  they  who  have 
neither  give  themselves.  And  yet,  in  this  very  as- 
sembly, there  are  at  least  a  dozen  sharp-eyed  men 
watching  for  plunder.  The  bounty-brokers  swarm. 
They  have  learned  a  trick  or  two  which  the  people 
will  not  be  the  wiser  for  for  some  time.  They  have 
invented  a  system  of  paper  credits,  which  shall  de- 
fraud the  army  of  men,  and  put  thousands  of  dollars 
in  their  pockets.  Men  in  high  positions  are  in  league 
with  them,  and  there  is  but  little  risk  of  exposure. 
Once  in  a  great  while,  one  of  these  swindlers  gets 


IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 


297 


into  prison,  but  money  draws  prison-bolts.  If  the 
history  of  the  bounty  frauds  in  but  one  State  could 
be  published,  the  people  would  be  astonished ;  and, 
could  the  rascalities  of  many  men  in  high  positions 
be  exposed,  the  public  would  say,  "Who  can  be 
trusted?"  But  persons  who  did  not  go  to  the  war 
know  as  much  about  these  things  as  those  who  did. 
I  will  pass  inside  the  lines,  and  endeavor  to  see  how 
men  made  money  there. 

For  a  time,  peddling  watches  in  the  camps  was  a 
great  business ;  they  were  made  almost  expressly 
for  the  Army,  showy,  cheap  as  possible,  and  if  they 
would  only  run  for  a  short  time,  it  mattered  little 
whether  they  would  keep  time  or  not.  But  will  the 
soldier,  who  in  the  first  year  of  the  war  gets  but 
eleven  dollars  a  month,  spend  twenty  dollars  for  a 
watch,  and  especially  without  knowing  whether  it  is 
good  or  worthless  ?  Those  only  who  are  ignorant  of 
the  tastes  of .  young  people  will  ask  this  question. 
Of  course  he  will,  unless  he  thinks  he  wants  some- 
thing else  more.  Trinkets  have  a  strange  fascination 
for  undeveloped  minds,  everywhere.  Some  wear 
jewels  in  the  nose,  others  in  their  ears,  some  on 
their  ankles,  and  others  on  their  arms  and  breast. 
The  Sioux  Squaw  is  satisfied  with  a  tin-pail  cover 
for  her  bosom  ornament,  if  she  can  find  nothing 
bettor.  But  the  boy  of  civilization  must  have  a 


298  IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 

watch.  If  he  be  an  apprentice,  he  will  commence 
with  one  that  costs  five  dollars.  If  one's  father  is 
able  to  send  him  to  school  and  college,  he  must  have 
a  first-class  silver-cased  hunter,  or  a  full-jewelled 
gold  chronometer,  according  to  the  funds  or  liber- 
ality of  pater  familias.  But  watch-peddling  was  a 
business  in  the  Army  not  to  be  sneered  at.  One 
Jew,  who  has  been  dodging  in  and  out  of  the  tents 
of  one  regiment  all  day,  has  sold  twenty-seven  be- 
fore sundown,  and  he  will  sell  many  more  before 
tattoo.  They  are  all  of  one  pattern,  and  very  taking 
to  the  eye.  They  may  run  a  month  or  a  year,  and 
they  may  keep  tolerably  correct  time.  But  they 
were  made  more  for  sale  than  service,  and  they  sell. 
This  Jew  has  obtained  twenty  dollars  apiece  for 
the  twenty-seven,  making  five  hundred  and  forty 
dollars,  the  prime  cost  being  about  six.  and  a  half 
each,  being  upwards  of  three  hundred  and  sixty 
dollars  net  profit  for  the  day.  This  watch-peddling 
will  retain  these  enormous  profits  for  only  one  or 
two  weeks  after  pay-day,  as  the  funds  will  run  low 
in  that  time,  and  the  peddler  had  better  retire  until 
another  pay-day,  or  go  into  another  department, 
where  the  Paymaster  is  distributing  greenbacks. 

It  is  not  strange  that  we  see  few  Jews  in  the 
ranks.  There  are  whole  regiments,  yes,  brigades, 
of  Irish  and  Germans,  and  one,  the  15th  AYiscon- 


IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL.  299 

siii,  of  Norwegians,  but  none  of  Jews.  They 
are  peddling  watches,  smuggling  pistols,  needles, 
quinine,  and  buying  cotton.  No  wonder  that 
General  Grant  issued  that  famous  order  which  made 
the  Israelites  squirm  so. 

Among  the  most  useful  of  the  camp-followers  were 
the  picture-makers.  This  business  continued  in  the 
camp,  with  short  intervals  of  exclusion,  to  the  end 
of  the  war;  and  the  number  was  small,  indeed,  who 
did  not  send  home  likenesses.  If  the  friends  at 
home  Lave  not  seen  the  boy  in  soldier-clothes,  he  is 
anxious  to  show  them  how  he  looks.  If  he  has  been 
promoted  to  a  Corporal,  with  two  stripes  on  his  arm, 
or  a  Sergeant,  with  three,  or  an  Orderly,  with  stripes 
and  a  square,  the  picture  sent  home  will  tell  the 
story  better  than  a  letter.  Jealous  neighbors  can- 
not gainsay  the  ambrotype.  The  Lieutenant,  the 
Captain,  the  Major,  the  Colonel,  all  must  go  to 
the  artist  as  soon  as  they  receive  the  insignia 
of  their  promotion.  It  is  not  necessary  to  write 
that  a  Lieutenant  has  become  a  Captain,  those 
two  bars  on  that  shoulder-strap  '  tell  the  news. 
Some  of  the  artists  made  considerable  money,  but 
they  earned  all  they  received.  It  sometimes  hap- 
pened that  a  shell,  or  other  missile,  would  come 
whizzing  along,  while  the  operator  was  adjusting  the 


300 


IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 


lenses.  Squinting  at  his  man,  through  the  camera, 
suddenly  his  apparatus  is  non  est. 

Often  the  picture  taken  in  camp  is  the  last  and 
most  precious  memento  the  home-circle  has  of  him 
who  sleeps  they  know  not  where.  These  mementos 
exist  in  every  town  and  hamlet  in  our  country. 

Another  most  useful  class  of  camp-followers  were 
the  soldiers'  memorial  agents.  We  see  these  signifi- 
cant lithographs  hanging  in  many  a  house.  When 
my  eye  catches  one  of  them  in  a  stranger's  house,  I 
know  at  once  that  family  had  a  near  friend  in  the 
war.  There  is  one  name  on  that  paper,  perhaps 
more,  very  precious  to  them.  It  is  five  years  since 
the  war  closed ;  the  memorials  begin  already  to  look 
old ;  but  there  they  hang  as  when  first  brought 
home,  and  there  let  them  hang  by  the  side  of  Lin- 
coln, and  Grant,  and  other  heroes.  The  day  will 
come  when  they  will  be  to  many  families  precious  as 
a  coat  of  arms.  A  hundred  years  hence,  and  they 
will  be  shown  with  pride,  and  exultant  men  will  say, 
"That  was  my  grandfather's  brother,  or  that  was  my 
great-uncle.  He  died  for  the  flag." 

Every  one  has  seen  these  memorials ;  but  all  do 
not  know  how  they  were  prepared.  A  lithographer 
executed  the  design  on  stone,  leaving  blank  space 
for  printing  in  the  names,  company,  regiment,  and 
other  items  of  interest,  such  as  time  of  enlistment, 


CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 


301 


discharge,  or  death.  The  lithograph,  as  it  comes 
from  the  stone,  is  as  good  for  one  regiment  as 
another.  Agents  visit  the  camp,  and  obtain  all  the 
necessary  items  for  printing,  take  orders,  at  perhaps 
a  dollar  and  a  half  each,  return  to  have  the  printing 
done,  and,  in  due  time,  probably  soon  after  pay- 
day, reappear  in  camp  to  furnish  the  subscribers 
with  the  coveted  memorial.  If  a  battle  has  oc- 
curred in  the  agent's  absence,  many  of  his  orders 
are  worthless.  ''Fell  in  battle."  An  asterisk  at 
their  names  directs  to  these  fearful  words.  At  one 
time  this  was  a  largely-paying  business. 

Taking  butter  to  the  Army  was,  at  times,  a  prof- 
itable speculation.  If  the  trader  was  shrewd,  he 
would  time  his  shipment  so  that  it  would  reach  the 
camp  about  pay-day.  I  do  not  remember,  however, 
to  have  met  any  one  who  made  a  fortune  in  this 
business. 

Many  made  considerable  money  in  purchasing 
the  hides  of  the  slaughtered  cattle.  But  there  were 
rings  in  the  Army,  as  there  are  out  ;  and  if  you 
were  not  in  the  ring,  you  could  not  purchase  hides. 

An  enterprising,  but  not  very  shrewd  Yankee, 
visited  Chatanooga,  in  the  winter  of  '64,  and  seeing 
the  great  number  of  hides  that  were  daily  accumu- 
lating, endeavored  to  buy  them  ;  but  some  were 


302 


IN    CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 


was  out.  He  would  then  purchase  the  tallow.  "O, 
yes ;  he  could  have  the  tallow ; "  for  as  yet  there  was 
no  tallow-ring,  and  speedily  there  is  a  large  candle- 
factory  in  operation,  not  in  Chatanooga,  Murfrees- 
boro',  or  Nashville,  but  in  the  brain  of  the  specu- 
lator. He  has  learned  the  price  of  candles,  and  is 
not  long  in  coming  to  the  conclusion,  that  with 
tallow  at  two,  and  candles  at  twelve  cents  per 
pound,  there  is  a  moderate  fortune  in  the  business. 
Hurrying  to  Nashville  for  a  quantity  of  moulds, 
some  large  kettles,  and  one  or  two  experts  to  assist 
in  the  new  speculation,  he  soon  has  his  plans  well 
matured.  But  it  requires  time  to  make  the  moulds, 
and  before  the  army  candle-factory  is  completed,  the 
short  evenings  have  come,  the  Army  is  ready  to 
move,  and  the  anticipated  fortune  vanishes. 

While  the  Army  lay  in  winter  quarters,  it  was  a 
good  field  for  theatrical  and  minstrel  troupes.  I 
know  one  man  who  made  thirty  thousand  dollars  in 
two  seasons,  in  this  line.  Just  how  he  did  it,  I  am 
not^  able  to  say ;  but  this  I  know,  he  went  there  with 
nothing,  and  came  away  at  the  end  of  the  second 
winter  with  that  amount  of  money. 

Many  made  a  great  deal  of  money  by  circulating 
bills  of  worthless  banks.  I  met  one  man  who  had  a 
thousand  dollars  in  notes  of  the  Bank  of  Tccumsch, 
Michigan.  They,  of  course,  were  worthless  at 


IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL.  3O3 

home  ;  but  I  doubt  not  they  brought  him  their  face 
in  whatever  he  wished  to  buy.  Notes  of  broken 
banks  were  sent  to  the  Army,  and  sold  to  shrewd, 
unscrupulous  men,  as  counterfeit  money  is  sold,  and 
the  dealers  made  small  fortunes.  "But  how  could 
this  be  done  to  any  extent?"  If  one  had  a  nominal 
thousand  dollars  in  these  notes,  he  could  easily  sell 
them  at  half  price,  it  answering  as  well  as  good 
mone}'  to  purchase  anything  the  Southern  people  or 
negroes  had  to  sell.  For  a  year  after  greenbacks 
were  issued,  the  Southern  people  preferred  notes  of 
State  banks,  whether  good  or  not,  to  them.  It  some- 
times happened  that  our  troops  would  advance  on  a 
place,  as,  for  example,  Winchester,  hold  it -a  short 
time,  retire  for  a  season,  and  then  reoccupy.  If 
they  had  distributed  greenbacks  at  the  first  occupa- 
tion, at  the  second  there  was  an  opportunity  to 
gather  them  in  exchange  for  State  bills.  Then  was 
the  time  for  the  dealer  in  notes  of  broken  banks. 

The  most  cruel  swindles  were  perpetrated  on  the 
Southern  people  and  negroes,  after  the  issue  of  fac- 
simile Confederate  notes.  These  could  be  bought 
for  a  trifle.  At  times  the -negroes  made  quite  a  busi- 
ness of  washing,  baking  hoe-cakes,  picking  cherries, 
and  other  fruit,  and  bringing  sweet  potatoes  to  camp. 
It  was  cruel  to  pretend  to  pay  them  for  their 
hard  toil  in  this  worthless  stuff,  yet  the  quantity 


304 


IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 


thus  disposed  of  no  doubt  amounted  to  a  million  of 
dollars.  "But  were  Union  soldiers  as  bad  as  that?" 
Could  we  expect  soldiers  in  an  enemy's  country  to 
treat  the  people  better  than  the  people  at  home  treat 
each  other?  The  number  who  will  pass  worthless 
money,  knowingly,  is  fearfully  large.  Of  any 
thousand  men  or  women  we  may  select,  how  many 
would  not  scruple  to  pass  a  worthless  note  !  Men 
and  women  will  do  this  who  would  not  steal ;  for 
they  think  the  victim  may  keep  it  moving. 

If  I  knew  the  mysteries  of  cotton-buying,  I  could 
make  this  chapter  intensely  interesting.  I  saw  it 
brought  in  by  ten,  twenty  and  fifty  bales,  but  never  a 
pound  sold.  Here  was  a  ring  that  only  the  favored  few 
could  enter.  Expeditions  failed  through  the  avarice 
of  the  leading  officers.  Men  preferred  making  five 
hundred  thousand  dollars  to  gaining  a  victory. 

I  always  noticed  when  cotton  was  brought  in,  that 
some  of  the  officers  connected  with  the  Provost-Mar- 
shal's Department  took  special  interest  in  it.  I  no- 
ticed, furthermore,  that  when  a  citizen  of  the  North 
came  to  the  Army  with  funds,  and  the  hope  of  buying 
this  article,  there  was  always  something  in  the  way. 
The  authorities  at  Washington  were  not  granting 
permits,  or  the  Army  was  to  advance  shortly,  or  it 
would  be  extremely  hazardous  to  attempt  to  move  it. 
1  u-ns  told  by  one  of  these  citizens  thrtt  he  was  in- 


IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 


3°5 


formed  by  one  of  the  officers  who  stood  very  near 
the  General  commanding,  that  he  could  not  only  ob- 
tain a  permit  to  buy  cotton,  but  have  the  exclusive 
privilege  of  the  department,  by  furnishing  the  re- 
quisite capital,  taking  all  risks,    and   dividing  the 
profits.     Knowing  all  the  parties,  I  believed,  and 
still  believe,  his  statement.     In  my  younger  days, 
I  thought  men  who  were  honored  with  positions  of 
trust  and  great  responsibility  must  be  good,  but  I 
have  learned  that  temptations  conquer  the  high  as 
easily  as  the  low.     What  is  there  to  discredit  the 
statement   of  this   citizen  ?     We   know   that  many 
officers  went  to  the  Army  poor.,  and  came  home  rich  ! 
But,  while   the   many  made   money,   some   lost. 
One  man  from  Indiana  has  eight  tons  of  butter  that 
he  has  purchased  in  Ohio,  at  thirty-five   cents  per 
pound.     He  has  shipped  it  for  Nashville,  and  ob- 
tained a  permit  to  take  it  to  the  Army.     The  article 
is  needed,  the  men  have  been  paid,  and  he  is  only  a 
few  hours  short  of  the  completion  of  a  grand  specu- 
lation.   Three  thousand  dollars,  clear  profit,  looms  up 
in  his  mind,  as  the  cars  roll  along.     It  is  a  great  deal 
of  money  for  a  month  of  labor  and  less  than  five 
thousand  dollars  outlay.     Hurry  up  the  train ;  it  is 
yet  fifty  miles  north  of  Nashville.     The  engine  re- 
quires wood  and  water.     Suddenly  twenty-five  rifles 
flash,  and  send  their  deadly  bullets  into  the  cars  and 


3o6  IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 

engine.  There  is  a  guard  of  twenty  armed  men  with 
the  train,  but  they  are  assaulted  so 'suddenly  that 
they  are  discomfited,  and  goods,  passengers,  freight 
and  train  are  in  possession  of  guerillas.  Passen- 
gers are  robbed  of  money  and  valuables,  the  express 
and  freight  cars  plundered,  but  the  butter  is  too 
heavy  for  horsemen  to  carry.  Uncoupling  the  engine 
and  tender,  and  running  them  forward  a  mile,  the 
self-appointed  engineer  reverses  the  action,  turns  on 
a  full  head  of  steam,  leaps  off,  and  away  they  dart, 
accumulating  momentum  at  every  revolution,  till  they 
strike  the  cars  with  a  terrible  crash,  and  engine, 
tender,  cars  and  heavy  freight  are  a  mass  of  worth- 
less debris.  That  butter  speculation  is  ended.  The 
three  or  four  thousand  dollars  profit  is  on  the  wrong 
side  of  the  sheet. 

Many  persons  made  money  by  smuggling  quinine, 
and  other  articles  which  brought  a  great  price.  In 
taking  my  trunk  to  the  depot  at  Louisville  one 
morning,  I  noticed  a  woman  of  middle  age,  dressed 
in  black,  standing  by  her  trunk,  waiting,  as  we  all 
were,  to  have  our  baggage  carefully  inspected,  before 
it  could  be  taken  aboard  the  train  for  Nashville.  In- 
specting the  articles  in  due  order,  the  officer  comes 
to  the  lady's  trunk,  which  she  has  already  opened,  and 
proceeds  to  examine  dresses,  skirts,  and  other  articles 
of  female  apparel,  which,  having  done  to  his  satis fac- 


IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL.  307 

tion,  he  locks  the  trunk,  and  politely  hands  her  the  key. 
Turning  it  on  end  to  mark  it,  his  suspicions  are  aroused, 
and  he  demands  the  key  again,  opening  it,  running  his 
cane  down  inside,  then  measuring  to  the  floor,  he  sees 
that  the  trunk  has  a  false  bottom.  The  articles  are 
removed,  the  thin  board  split  out  with  his  cane,  and 
there  are  needles  enough  to  supply  a  good  sized 
town  for  a  year ;  neither  she  nor  her  trunk  went  to 
Nashville  on  that  train.  The  last  I  saw  of  her  she 
was  turning  a  corner  with  an  officer,  who  was  escort- 
ing her  to  the  office  of  the  Provost-Marshal.  How  she 
expected  to  get  these  needles  through  the  lines,  and 
how  much  profit  there  would  have  been  on  the  sales 
had  her  enterprise  been  successful,  I  know  not. 
Judging  from  what  I  saw  of  the  people  where  we 
went,  I  should  think  needles  were  the  last  things  to 
smuggle.  The  articles  most  needed  were  wheat  and 
soap. 

But  next  to  the  cotton-buyers  the  Sutlers  had  the 
greatest  opportunity  to  make  money.  It  required 
much  shrewdness  to  be  a  successful  Sutler,  but  with 
that,  and  ordinary  good  luck,  a  moderate  fortune  was 
within  his  grasp.  Supplying  from  three  hundred  to 
a  thousand  men  with  cakes,  butter,  cheese,  apples, 
tobacco,  canned  meats,  and  canned  fruits,  at  a  profit 
of  fifty  to  a  hundred  per  cent.,  and  whiskey  at  one 
hundred  to  three  hundred,  what  was  to  prevent 


308  IN1  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 

getting  rich  ?  But,  Mr.  Sutler,  you  must  be  very  care- 
ful not  to  get  the  ill-will  of  the  boys,  or  some  night, 
after  you  have  sold  them  more  whiskey  than  they  can 
digest,  and  before  the  guard  can  come  to  your  assist- 
ance, you  will  have  received  a  very  unceremonious 
call,  and  there  has  been  a  general  distribution  of  your 
traps.  If  you  have  saved  your  greenbacks  you  are 
lucky.  But  why  did  not  the  guard  hear  your  call 
for  help,  and  come  to  your  assistance  ?  For  the  best 
of  reasons ;  they,  too,  have  been  drinking  your  whis- 
key, and  scarcely  know  their  beat. 

But,*  if  there  is  money  in  the  Sutler's  berth,  I  think 
few  men  would  care  to  hold  it  long.  Everybody  but 
him  has  some  friends  in  camp.  The  Colonel  or  a 
Captain  may  be  surly,  waspish,  negligent,  or  what 
not,  he  has  a  clique  who  like  him.  But  the  Sutler  is 
the  butt  of  every  one's  curse.  If  he  refuses  credit, 
the  man  who  wants  it  curses  him ;  if  he  refuses  to 
furnish  whiskey,  he  is  cursed ;  and  if  he  does  fur- 
nish it,  those  who  buy  of  him  curse  him  as  soon  as 
they  are  sober,  for  letting  them  have  it ;  if  he  is  out 
of  an  article  wanted,  they  upbraid  him ;  if  he  gives 
credit,  and  cannot  get  his  pay,  no  one  is  sorry ;  if 
the  guerillas  gobble  up  his  team  and  a  thousand  dol- 
lars' worth  of  goods,  they  laugh  over  it  as  a  good 
joke,  and  say  he  deserved  it.  Any  berth  but  an 


IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL.  309 

army  Sutler's.  If  his  hand  is  not  against  every  man, 
every  soldier's  hand  is  against  him. 

Yet,  let  me  do  some  of  them  justice.  I  really 
saw  some  as  good  men  among  the  Sutlers  as  were  to 
be  found  in  any  capacity ;  even  better  men  than  some 
of  the  Chaplains  that  could  be  named.  Some  had 
broken  down  in  business,  and  took  this  position  to 
avoid  poverty.  They  were  men  of  character,  and 
the  good  officers  seeing  it,  gave  them  sympathy  and 
support;  and,  being  good  men  when  they  became 
Sutlers,  they  were  good  men  when  they  returned  to 
their  homes. 

The  gamblers  must  be  mentioned  in  this  chapter. 
There  was  scarcely  a  regiment  but  had  more  or  less 
of  these  pests  in  it.  If  any  one  is  to  be  excepted, 
it  is  the  73d  Illinois  :  I  am  very  certain  that  is  the 
number.  I  refer  to  the  Methodist  regiment  in  the 
Army  of  the  Cumberland.  The  professional  gam- 
blers were  not  so  numerous  in  the  East  as  in  the 
West,  but  they  were  a  scourge  everywhere.  In 
the  Eastern  Army,  they  usually  obtained  some 
berth,  so  that  they  had,  ostensibly,  some  respectable 
occupation.  One  was  a  Sutler's  clerk,  or  had  a 
berth  in  the  Quartermaster's  department,  or  repaired 
watches,  but  gambling  was  his  occupation,  and  many 
a  boy  who  wrote  home  that  his- money  had  been 


3io 


IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 


stolen,  would  have  made  a  lie  the  truth  if  he  had 
added,  "by  the  gamblers" ;  and  many  a  soldier's  wife 
who  watched  the  mail  for  a  remittance,  watched  and 
watched  in  vain,  for  the  gambler  had  taken  the 
money. 

I  cannot  say  there  were  gamblers  there  who  made 
fortunes.  Men  of  this  descriptien  are  rare  any- 
where. I  know  men  who  have  spent  a  hundred 
thousand  dollars  in  this  vice,  but  none  who  have 
made  and  kept  one-tenth  of  this  sum.  They  are 
generally  poor.  They  have  plenty  of  friends  to 
help  them  spend  their  money.  The  drinking  men 
are  the  gambler's  friends,  and,  as  he  made  his  money 
easily,  he  must  pay  their  bills.  Vicious  women  are 
his  friends,  and  they  claim  a  large  share  of  his  gains. 
But,  no  matter  what  he  does  with  it,  the  fools  who 
play  with  him  are  robbed,  and  not  only  they,  but 
their  friends,  suffer. 

The  question  arises  :  "Why  were  these  things  per- 
mitted? Why  did  not  some  one  inform  the  com- 
manding officer  what  was  taking  place  ?  Why  was 
he  allowed  to  remain  in  camp?  The  true-hearted 
and  sweet-spirited  Hutchinsons  were  ordered  out  of 
the  Army  for  singing  the  songs  of  liberty,  and  could 
the  vile  wretch  who  is  stealing  the  bread  from  tho 
wives  and  children  of  soldiers,  be  allowed  to  remain, 


IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL.  311 

and  carry  on  "his  terrible  work?"  He  was  well 
known.  Every  one  knew  his  business,  and  yet  he 
was  not  driven  out.  But  why  are  not  these  persons 
arrested  at  home?  They  have  been  robbing  hus- 
bands and  fathers  of  money  needed  by  themselves 
and  families  for  daily  subsistence,  yet  no  one  arrests 
them.  They  do  no  labor,  wear  fine  clothes,  have 
money  for  their  daily  wants,  and  are  addressed  re- 
spectfully by  genteel  and  respectable  people.  They 
abound  in  every  city  and  large  town,  and  small 
towns,  even,  are  not  without  them.  But  who  shuns 
and  despises  them  as  they  deserve  ?  Who  says  to 
his  children,  as  one  of  these  pests  pass  his  house : 
"There  goes  a  villain  who  lives  by  others'  toil,  a  po- 
lite, cowardly  brother  of  the  thief,  both  of  whom, 
like  the  owl  and  beasts  of  prey,  do  their  work 
by  night,  and  in  places  shunned  by  the.ir  betters  !" 
These,  and  other  human  vampires,  prey  upon  the 
community,  and  few  raise  any  objection.  But  war 
is  their  season  of  harvest. 

O,  War  !  frightful,  ghastly  War  !  How  marvellous 
that  poor  humanity  must  purchase  Liberty  and  many 
of  her  most  cherished  blessings  through  instrumental- 
ities such  as  thine  !  Falsehood  and  base  ingratitude, 
theft  and  plunder,  sacking  and  pillaging,  murder 
and  ravishment,  and  everything  that  is  devilish, 


3I2 


IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 


and  all  that  should  make  angels  weep,  and  crimes 
that  should  make  devils  stand  aghast,  all  these,  and 
more  than  these,  are  thy  concomitants,  and  pure  as 
refined  gold  is  he  who  hath  withstood  for  a  long  time 
the  temptations  of  army  life  without  contamination. 


CHAPTER    XV. 


SPIES  play  an  important  part  in  every  war.  To 
be  a  successful  one  requires  a  rare  combination  of 
good  qualities — courage  that  never  quails,  intuitive 
knowledge  of  human  nature,  tact  to  manage  conver- 
sation so  adroitly  that  your  talker  shall  tell  just  what 
you  wish  to  know,  ability  to  read  in  the  coun- 
tenance the  evidence  of  truth  or  falsehood,  the  most 
profound  discretion,  love  of  adventure,  endurance, 
and  integrity.  There  are  other  qualities  that  are 
useful ;  but  lacking  any  of  these,  the  spy  is  a  failure. 

In  the  early  part  of  the  war,  some  of  the  best  of 
men  fell  under  suspicion.  I  have  heard  that  General 
Spinner  was  one  of  this  class.  It  may  not  have  been 
so  ;  but  if  not,  how  shall  we  account  for  the  follow- 
ing incident:  Among  the  letters  advertised  as  re- 
maining in  the  Portland,  Maine,  Post-office,  jn  1862, 
was  one  for  a  well-known  lady  of  that  city,  whose 
husband  was  with  the  Army.  On  sending  for  it,  the 
messenger  was  told  that  the  letter  was  important, 


3r4 


IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 


and  must  be  delivered  to  the  party  in  person.  Won- 
dering who  had  sent  her  a  letter  of  so  great  value, 
that  it  could  not  be  intrusted  to  even  her  daughter  ; 
thinking  over  her  small  list  of  uncles,  aunts,  and 
other  relatives,  who  possibly  might  have  died,  and 
left  her  a  legacy ;  and  then  of  her  husband,  who 
might  be  a  prisoner  in  Belle  Isle,  or  some  other 
horrid  place,  she  hurried  to  the  post-office  and  asked 
for  an  advertised  letter  addressed  to  her  name. 

"Major  Dole  has  it,  and  you  will  be  obliged  to  go 
to  the  Postmaster's  room  to  obtain  it." 

Wonder  increases  to  agitation.  Timidly  the  lit- 
tle woman  approaches  the  tall  official,  when  the  fol- 
lowing conversation  occurs  : 

"I  wish  for  an  advertised  letter,  directed  to ," 

giving  her  name. 

"Are  you  the  lady  bearing  that  name?" 

"I  am." 

"Are  you  a  married  woman?" 

"I  am." 

" How  long  have  you  resided  in  this  city?" 

"Nearly  all  my  life," 

"What  is  your  husband's  name  ?"    This  was  given. 

"I  understand.     He  is  in  the  Army." 

"Yes  sir." 

"Has  your  husband  any  business  relations  with 
General  Spinner?" 


IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL  315 

"I  do  not  know  that  he  has." 

"Are  you  acquainted  with  that  gentleman?" 

"I  never  met  him." 

"  This  letter  bears  General  Spinner's  frank.  Do 
you  know  any  reason  why  this  gentleman  should 
write  to  you  ?  " 

"I  do." 

"  Will  you  please  tell  me  the  reason  ?  " 

"I  do  not  know  that  I  am  obliged  to  tell  Major 
Dole,  simply  because  he  is  Postmaster,  the  subject 
of  correspondence  between  myself  and  any  one,  even 
though  he  be  an  officer  of  the  Government." 

"I  shall  be  obliged  to  open  and  read  this  letter." 

"  I  can  tell  you  what  it  is  about." 

"What  is  it  about?" 

"  A  Pine-tree  shilling." 

"  A  Pine-tree  shilling !  Darker  and  darker !  What 
about  a  Pine-tree  shilling  ?  " 

"Well,  sir,  I  noticed  in  a  paper  that  General 
Spinner  wished  to  purchase  antique  coins,  and,  hav- 
ing a  Pine-tree  shilling,  I  sent  him  a  description  av,i 
invited  a  proposition  to  purchase.  If  that  letter  is 
from  him,  I  presume  it  is  in  reply." 

As  he  opened  and  perused  it,  a  sharp  eye  might 
have  seen  a  look  on  the  Major's  face  as  good  as  an 
advertisement  that  he  would  sell  his  commission  as 
spy-huntor  cheap.  Comment  is  unnecessary. 


316  IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 

At  Bowling  Green,  Kentucky,  in  1863, 1  saw  a  man 
moving  about  among  the  troops  on  horseback,  selling 
papers.  He  had  a  pleasant  word  for  every  one,  and 
seemed  able  to  epitomize  in  a  few  sentences  all  the 
important*  matter  of  the  papers.  "  Here  is  the 
Louisville  Journal,  with  the  copperhead  account  of 
the  battle  of  Gettysburg,  and  here  is  the  paper  that 
is  loyal  in  every  column,  line  and  word, — the  old  Cin- 
cinnati Gazette.  Here  you  will  find  that  Lee  is 
badly  whipped  and  has  run  away  across  the  Potomac, 
while  that  bully  Pennsylvanian,  General  Meade,  is 
resting  on  his  laurels."  He  seemed  to  be  hi  a  busi- 
ness beneath  his  qualifications.  The  next  seen  of 
him  .by  myself  he  was  in  Louisville,  flitting  about 
with  no  visible  business.  Watching  him  for  a  season 
without  speaking  to  him,  I  came  to  the  conclusion 
that  he  was  a  spy.  I  called  to  see  the  Colonel  who 
had  charge  of  the  military  affairs  of  the  city,  but 
not  finding  him  in  his  office,  communicated  my  sus- 
picions to  his  assistant.  On  telling  him  what  I  had 
seen,  and  whither  I  had  followed  the  suspected  per- 
son, and  asking  for  instructions  and  authority  in 
taking  further  measures,  his  reply  was:  "The  man 
has  done  nothing  that  will  warrant  his  arrest.  If  both 
of  you  are  going  to  Nashville,  manage  to  go  when  he 
does,  if  you  can.  If  there  is  anything  to  arrest  him 
for,  you  may  find  grounds  before  long.  I  am  not 


IN    CAMP  AND    HOSPITAL. 


3*7 


authorized  to  make  you  any  promises,  but  of  this 
you  may  rest  assured,  if  you  can  detect  a  spy  you 
shall  lose  nothing,  but  be  amply  rewarded." 

Boarding  at  the  same  hotel,  I  was  able  to  keep 
my  eye  on  him  without  attracting  his  attention. 
Coming  from  his  room  one  morning  with  a  valise  in 
hand,  passing  out  of  the  door  quickly,  he  was  seen 
making  his  way  rapidly  to  the  levee,  as  if  to  take 
the  steamer  then  ready  to  start  down  the  river. 
Just  then,  I  felt  like  taking  a  trip  on  the  same  boat. 
Eighty  miles  in  some  six  hours,  for  the  river  was  at 
freshet  height,  and  the  stops  were  few,  and  we  were 
at  Evansville,  Indiana.  But  as  he  did  not  stop  there, 
neither  did  I;  twelve  miles  farther  and  we  reach 
Hendersonville,  Kentucky,  as  full  of  rebels  as  a 
little  town  like  that  could  be.  That  was  his  landing- 
place,  and  it  was  mine.  Having  noticed  his  eyes  di- 
rected towards  me  a  number  of  times,  I  was  not 
perfectly  at  ease.  If  he  were  a  spy,  and  suspected 
my  purposes,  there  might  be  a  very  easy  method 
adopted  to  get  rid  of  me.  A  cord  and  a  stone,  with 
the  Ohio  and  a  dark  night  at  hand,  were  quite  suffic- 
ient for  him  and  his  friends.  The  night  passed  without 
incident.  In  the  morning  I  began  to  watch  for  a  chance- 
boat  up  the  river.  Noon  came,  and  no  boat.  The  sun 
was  but  an  hour  high,  and  yet  no  boat.  While  I 
was  waiting  anxiously  at  the  levee,  the  stranger  came 


3iS  IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 

past  me,  and  without  appearing  to  notice  me  placed 
a  bit  of  paper  in  my  hand,  which  read  as  follows  : 
"Mind  your  tongue  !  you  are  watched.  Start  up  the 
river  after  dark,  and  I  will  meet  you. " 

Here  was  trouble.  But  I  felt  it  was  best  to  trust 
him,  and  obeyed  his  injunction.  He  was  promptly 
on  hand,  having  watehed  in  a  hiding-place  for  my 
coming.  "Stranger,"  said  he,  "if  you  can  trust  me, 
I  think  I  can  take  you  out  of  danger.  I  am  known 
here  to  most  of  the  people.  They  have  been  told  I 
am  a  Union  scout,  and  are  disposed  to  do  me  harm 
to-night.  -Any  stranger  coming  here,  without  known 
business,  is  suspected.  Our  coming  on  the  same 
boat  has  placed  you  in  their  eyes  as  my  confederate. 
This  is  not  conjecture.  There  is,  at  least,  one 
Union  man  who  is  true  as  the  needle  to  the  pole,  and 
who,  though  very  quiet,  is  not  often  ignorant  of  any 
devilish  scheme  the  Henderson  rebels  may  concoct." 

"But  what  are  we  to  do?" 

"I  have  arranged  to  have  a  skiff  brought  to  a 
point  a  mile  above,  and  we  are  to  cross  the  river, 
then  foot  it  to  Evansville." 

"The  travelling  is  bad.     Can  we  obtain  horses?" 

"Never  mind  the  horses ;  but  let  us  get  into  a 
hiding-place,  and  watch  for  the  skiff." 

In  less  than  an  hour  the  little  boat  had  been 
brought,  and  with  fifteen  minutes'  rowing  we  were 


IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 


3*9 


in  Indiana,  and  starting  out  for  Evausville.  The 
water  covered  the  roads  in  many  places,  and  the 
mud  was  deep  and  adhesive  everywhere.  No  hu- 
man being  but  ourselves  seemed  to  be  astir  on 
that  lonesome  road.  The  houses  were  from  a  fourth 
to  half  a  mile  apart,  and  from  every  one  of  these 
we  received  attention  from  one  or  more  dogs.  I 
importuned  my  new  friend  to  stop  till  morning,  hav- 
ing no  fear  of  being  followed.  "Wait  till  we  make 
another  mile,"  said  he,  when  we  were,  perhaps,  half- 
way to  the  city,  "and  we  will  find  a  stopping-place." 
Striking  out  at  the  left  across  the  field,  and  making 
a  fearfully  long  mile,  through  the  mud,  and  wading 
the  watercourses,  we  came  to  a  little  farm-house 
where  my  friend  was  known,  and  where  we  might 
feel  safe.  A  hot  fire,  warm  drinks,  some  cold  meat 
and  bread,  dry  socks,  and,  in  due  time  a  warm  bed, 
and  we  were  soon  happy  companions  for  the  night. 
Once  warm  in  bed,  he  was  ready  to  tell  me  who  he 
was.  As  I  suspected,  from  a  hint  before  dropped, 
he  was  a  Union  scout.  He  had  already  made  six 
trips  within  Bragg's  lines,  without  being  suspected. 
"But,"  sqid  he,  "my  business  in  this  section  is  ended. 
I  came  to  Henderson  merely  to  ascertain  whether  I 
am  suspected.  I  am,  and  cannot  venture  again. 
Probably  a  description  of  my  person,  and  maybti 
my  likeness,  is  in  every  town  in  Middle  and  West 


320 


IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 


Tennessee.  There  is  a  price  set  on  my  head,  and 
I  should  have  been  spirited  away  to-night  but  for 
that  old  Union  man  I  told  you  of.  And  no  doubt 
they  would  have  taken  us  both  together.  This  is 
not  the  best  of  beds,  and  the  fare  we  have  had  not 
the  most  sumptuous,  but  I  hope  we  are  safe.  This 
is  a  log-house,  and  the  old  people  are  both  familiar 
with  firearms.  There  are  not  less  than  five  guns, 
besides  my  pistols  and  yours,  if  you  have  any,  in 
the  house,  and  if  these  Henderson  rebels  dare  to  mo- 
lest us,  some  of  them  will  meet  their  deserts. 
This  house  is  almost  as  good  as  a  citadel." 

"Almost  every  scout  meets  with  more  or  less  ad- 
ventures. I  presume  you  have  had  many." 

"No  sir ;  nothing  worth  relating.  I  have  been  as 
much  excited,  and  in  as  much  danger  to-day,  as  ever 
since  I  engaged  in  the  business.  In  my  opinion, 
most  of  the  scout  stories  are  pure  inventions,  and 
most  that  I  ever  heard  have  not  the  semblance  of 
truth.  The  most  interesting  incidents  I  could  re- 
late are  of  Union  prisoners  making  their  escape. 
Hiding  about  in  the  woods,  as  I  have  done, 
I  have  often  seen  these  poor  fellows  fed,  and 
otherwise  aided  by  the  negroes.  When  reading 
wonderful  scout  stories,  I  have  often  wondered  why 
other  men  should  meet  with  such  marvellous  adven- 


IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL.  33 z 

tures,  and  I  none.  Nothing  has  happened,  in  my 
experience,  to  make  me  a  hero." 

"Tell  me  something  of  interest,  for  my  blood  is 
too  hot  to  sleep  at  present." 

"I  met  a  Colonel  Hand,  over  on  the  Tennessee 
River,  whose  experience  interested  me.  I  will 
relate  it,  because  it  is  true;  and  also,  because 
it  shows  the  stuff  that  Union  men  of  the  South  are 
made  of.  Before  the  war,  Colonel  Hand  held  a  com- 
mission in  the  militia  of  his  State,  and  thereby  re- 
ceived his  title.  Talking  like  a  moderate  rebel,  and 
holding  a  Colonel's  commission,  he  could  hardly  sat- 
isfy his  acquaintances  for  not  joining  the  Southern 
Army.  But  he  made  excuse  that  his  wife  was  too  ill. 
This  answered  for  a  while  ;  but  at  length  his  neigh- 
bors said  :  '  The  Colonel's  wife  neither  dies,  nor  grows 
worse.  Other  men  have  wives  in  feeble  health,  yet 
they  take  part  in  gaining  our  independence.  The 
Colonel  sets  a  most  pernicious  example.  He  talks 
well,  indeed;  but  as  for  his  doing,  a  Union  man 
might  do  as  much  for  our  cause  as  he.' 

"One  afternoon,  his  only  negro  boy  came  into  the 
room,  exclaiming :  ' Mas'r  Hand,  I's  heard  bad 
news  from  Jake,  what  libs  up  by  de  Court-Hus.  lie 
say  de  people  specks  you  is  a  Union  man,  and  dey  is 
gwine  to  do  someting  desperd.'  A  hint  was  suf- 
ficient. He  had  been  expecting  it,  and  was  pre- 


323 


IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 


pared.  Less  than  a  mile  from  the  house,  in  the 
woods,  was  a  cave,  and  thither  he  had  carried  a  bed, 
and  other  comforts,  for  an  emergency.  Five  min- 
utes' start,  and  he  would  ask  no  odds  of  the  Regu- 
lators. They  came  to  his  residence  many  times,  hut 
no  one  had  seen  Colonel  Hand  for  many  mouths. 
At  length,  it  was  generally  believed  he  had  left 
the  country ;  but  his  wife  and  little  boy  remained. 
In  that  cave  he  lived  six  mouths,  without  ever  seeing 
his  family.  Every  night  a  trusty  negro  carried  his 
daily  food,  first  by  one  route,  and  then  by  another. 
After  taking  Fort  Henry,  the  gunboats  came  up 
the  Tennessee,  and,  when  the  wife  saw  them,  she 
sent  her  little  boy  to  the  cave  to  call  her  husband, 
for  the  child  knew  his  hiding-place.  Coming  to  the 
spot,  and  crawling  down  through  the  brush,  he  called 
out :  ' Par-pa!  you  can  come  out  now,  for  the  Union 
gunboats  have  come.' 

"'Who  says  so?'  inquires  the  doubting  father. 
' Mar  and  I  have  seen  them;  they  are  right  down  to 
the  Landing,'  says  the  overjoyed  child.' 

"I  was  on  one  of  these  boats  when  the  Colonel,  his 
wife,  their  little  boy,  and  the  faithful  negro  made 
their  first  appearance.  He  talked,  sung,  hurrahed, 
caught  a  flag  and  wound  it  about  his  body,  kissed  it, 
and  manifested  so  much  joy,  that  the  little  boy  was 


IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL.  323 

frightened,  and  wondered  if  his  father  was  not 
drunk." 

"Are  you  a  Kentuckian?" 

"I  should  hope  not,  though  I  have  been  among 
them  a  great  deal,  first  and  last.  I  am  a  native  of 
Woodstock,  Vermont,  but  have  spent  most  of  my 
life  in  Kentucky." 

"What  do  you  think  of  the  Kentuckians?" 

"Good  and  bad,  same  as  other  people.  But  if 
you  wish  to  know  what  I  think  of  the  loyalty  of  that 
people  in  general,  I  must  say  that  most  of  them 
are  the  meanest  rebels  I  have  ever  seen.  If  you 
will  go  to  Louisville,  or  Lexington,  you  will  hear 
leading  men  laying  down  the  principles  that  ought 
to  govern  the  North  in  prosecuting  the  war. .  Some- 
times you  would  think,  from  the  boasts  of  the  peo- 
ple of  that  State,  that  Kentucky  furnished  as  many 
troops  for  the  Union  Army  as  Ohio.  I  think  I  read 
in  Prentice's  Secesh  Journal,  of  Louisville,  that  she 
had  furnished  forty  thousand  Union  troops.  If  so, 
I  wonder  where  they  are  ?  Did  you  ever  see  any 
of  them  in  the  Eastern  Army?" 

"Only  a  very  few.  I  believe  there  was  one  under 
Shields,  or,  rather,  Banks,  in  the  Shenandoah  Val- 
ley. Possibly  I  may  have  seen  one  other  regiment, 
but  I  do  not  remember  any  other  now." 

"Neither  do  I  know  of  any  other  in  the  Eastern 


324 


CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 


Army.  Are  they  iiithe  Army  of  the  (Cumberland?  I 
grant  there  are  a  few ;  but  there  is  no  Kentucky  Brig- 
ade, as  East  Tennessee  has.  There  are  five  fine  reg- 
iments from  that  section  of  the  State,  and  others  from 
Western  and  Middle  Tennessee.  I  tell  you  that  it 
would  have  been  just  as  well  for  the  North  if  this  ar- 
r6gant  State  had  seceded  with  the  others.  There 
would  have  been  some  satisfaction  in  thrashing  the 
conceit  out  of  the  Kentucky  rebels." 

"Give  all  credit  to  every  loyal  Keutuckian  in  or 
out  of  the  Army.  But  I  assure  you,  friend,  that  for 
every  loyal  man  that  State  has  in  our  Army,  she  has 
three,  if  not  more,  fighting  against  our  flag,  and  also 
many  of  those  who  are  for  us  would' desert  our  cause 
instantly  if  they  thought  the  negro  was  to  be  made 
free.  It  is  often  charged  that  New  Englanders  have 
'nigger' on  the  brain,  but  Keutuckians  have  'nigger' 
in  the  pocket.  Talk  to  a  Union  man  about  this  war, 
and  he  will  be  as  eloquent  as  a  stump  orator ;  ana- 
thematizing Jeff.  Davis  and  his  satellites,  pointing 
to  the  devastation  and  ruin  left  through  his  State  by 
the  moving  and  contending  troops,  but  he  usually 
ends  with  the  'nigger'  and  the  abolitionist. 

"These  people  remind  me  of  an  incident  in  the  ex- 
perience of  old  Father  Streeter,  of  Woodstock.  It 
is  a  long  time  since  I  heard  him  relate  it,  and  there- 
fore I  may  not  give  it  with  perfect  accuracy.  Hefore 


7.V  CAMP  AXD   HOSPITAL.  325 

fairly  entering  the  ministry,  he  went  to  spend  the 
Sabbath  with  the  old  eloquent  preacher  of  his  de- 
nomination then  settled  in  Portsmouth,  New  Hamp- 
shire. It  wras  at  the  time  that  Hosea  Ballou,  then  a 
young  and  very  prominent  brother  in  the  same  faith, 
was  causing  not  a  little  commotion  in  this  country,  by 
his  views  on  the  Atonement.  The  Portsmouth  man 
was  almost,  if  not  quite,  a  Trinitarian,  and  regarded 
Ballou  as  little,  if  any,  better  than  an  Infidel.  His 
first  duty,  as  they  were  sitting  by  the  fire  Saturday 
evening,  was  to  sound  young  Streeter,  and  ascertain 
whether  he  had  become  infected  by  the  Ballou 
heresy.  Then,  for  two  hours,  he  poured  forth  such 
a  stream  of  abuse  and  anathemas  on  the  man  who  de- 
nied Vicarious  Atonement,  and  yet  dared  to  call  him- 
self a  Christian,  that  the  poor  half-fledged  minister 
was  speechless  with  amazement.  Looking  up  at  the 
clock,  the  venerable  minister  said  :  'Brother  Streeter, 
it  is  nine  o'clock.  It  is  time  for  prayers.  Will  you 
read  and  pray  T  This  was  too  much.  Streeter  was 
not  in  a  suitable  frame  of  mind,  after  listening  to 
what  had  been  said.  But  the  old  man  was  equal  to 
the  occasion,  and  occupied  a  full  half-hour  in  pour- 
ing forth  one  of  the  eloquent  prayers  for  which  he 
was  distinguished.  This  ended,  all  took  seats  but 
the  minister,  who  remained  in  the  position  occupied 
in  prayer,  with  one  hand  still  on  the  chair  before 


326  IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 

him.  Raising  his  right  hand  to  his  head,  and  insert- 
ing his  long,  bony  finger  into  one  of  his  ears",  he 
broke  the  silence,  which  had  continued  for  a  minute 
or  so  after  the  'Amen,'  *As  I  was  saying  about  Bal- 
louj  and  gave  him  another  excoriation,  keeping 
Streeter  from  bed  an  hour  longer.  So  with  these 
Kentuckians :  'As  we  were  saying  about  the  nig- 
ger.' 

"  Kentucky  loyalty  !  if  you  and  I  had  not  escaped 
from  Hendersonville  to-night,  we  should  have  had  a 
specimen  of  their  appreciation  of  Union  men  before 
morning,  and,  as  it  is,  I  keep  listening  for  their 
coming."  But  he  listened  in  vain,  and  we  finally 
found  sleep  as  well  as  rest. 

For  a  few  weeks  previous  to  the  battle  of  Games' 
Mill,  I  slept  almost  every  night  hi  an  ambulance 
near  the  tent  of  General  Sickles,  half  a  mile  to  the 
left  of  the  railroad.  It  was  not  in  use,  and  made  a 
capital  bed.  But  it  was  wide  enough  for  two ;  the 
two  seats  extended  along  the  sides,  and  were  so 
constructed  that  by  raising  some  pieces  attached  to 
them  by  hinges,  and  making  use  of  the  spare  cush- 
ion, there  was  a  bed  much  better  than  most  of 
those  in  ordinary  boarding-houses.  One  night,  very 
late,  I  was  awakened  by  some  one  who  wished  to 
share  quarters  with  me.  He  said  he  had  been 
out  on  a  little  wake,  in  one  of  the  regiments  down 


IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 


327 


to  the  left,  and  it  was  too  late  to  get  across  the 
river  over  to  the  4th  Michigan,  where  he  belonged ; 
and  seeing  this  ambulance,  he  thought  he  would  put 
up  for  the  night. 

Telling  him  that  he  could  have  lodgings  on  the 
same  terms  as  myself,  which  were  simply  to  get 
inside  and  occupy  as  much  room  as  needful,  I  soon 
had  my  soldier-boy  for  a  companion,  and  in  five 
minutes  we  were  asleep.  In  the  morning,  he  said  it 
was  the  best  bed  he  had  had  in  a  month,  and  wished 
to  know  how  I  happened  to  have  the  use  of  it.  All 
I  could  say  was  that  it  was  mine  by  sufferance. 

"Do  you  occupy  this  every  night?" 

"I  have  done  so  for  a  week  or  two,  but  may  be 
deprived  of  it  any  moment." 

"If  I  am  out  this  way  again,  to  see  my  friends  in 
the  2d  Rhode  Island,  and  get  belated,  may  I  call  and 
lodge  with  you  again?" 

"Of  course  ;  I  have  no  monopoly." 

The  next  night  he  came  and  slept  as  before ;  but 
he  was  very  poor  company,  and  told  me  nothing 
worth  relating.  Two  weeks,  or  more,  passed,  and  I 
saw  nothing  of  him,  but,  on  the  memorable  Friday 
evening  of  the  battle  at  the  Mills,  I  met  him,  seated 
at  a  fire  in  the  swamp,  silent,  and  apparently  indif- 
ferent as  to  the  sufferers,  while  every  other  one  was 
actively  engaged  in  doing  something  to  make  the 


328  AV  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 

wounded  more  comfortable.  As  soon  as  our  eyes 
met,  he  started  up  and  took  me  by  the  hand,  and  ex- 
pressed the  greatest  joy.  Said  he,  "I  am  completely 
used  up.  I  have  been  in  the  battle  all  day,  and 
escaped.  If  I  could  have  a  few  hours'  sleep,  it  would 
do  me  a  great  deal  of  good.  Suppose  we  go  over 
to  our  old  ambulance  and  spend  the  remainder  of  the 
night,  out  of  the  reach  of  these  groans?" 

Thinking  his  suggestion  a  good  one,  I  was  ready 
to  adopt  it,  and  we  picked  our  way  through  the 
swamp,  crossing  the  river  on  some  logs,  the  location 
of  which  he  seemed  to  understand,  and  were  soon  in 
our  old  bed.  I  could  not  help  thinking  he  was  a 
poor  specimen  of  a  soldier,  for  neither  his  face  nor 
clothes  were  blackened  with  powder ;  but  I  had  seen 
many  such.  There  were  soldiers,  and  even  officers, 
who,  for  three  years,  never  took  part  in  a  battle, 
though  half  of  their  comrades  were  shot  down.  A 
shirk  always  finds  an  excuse  to  escape  duty.  If  he 
finds  courage  enough  to  go  out  with  the  regiment,  he 
runs  at  the  first  fire.  I  met  officers  with  an  arm  in  a 
sling,  or  so  lame  they  could  scarcely  put  the  foot  to 
the  ground,  that  had  heard  but  the  whizzing  of  the 
first  shells  from  the  enemy's  line.  But  to  return  to 
my  companion :  he  manifested  no  disposition  to  re- 
turn to  his  regiment,  but  continued  with  me,  all  the 
time  very  silent,  moody,  and  apparently  unwell. 


72V  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 


329 


He  had  left  his  gun  behind,  but,  no  matter  how  fee- 
ble others  who  accompanied  us  were,  he  never 
offered  to  cany  their  burdens.  I  soon  wearied  of 
his  company,  and  wished  to  get  rid  of  him,  but  it 
was  of  no  use.  Arriving  at  the  James,  and  seeing  a 
small  boat  on  the  shore,  he  jumped  into  it  and  pulled 
out  into  the  stream.  Half  way  across  the  river,  he 
stood  up  in  the  boat,  calling  me  by  name ;  and,  when 
I  returned  his  salutation,  he  cried  out  : 

"If  you  ever  come  to  Richmond,  call  and  take 
lodgings  with  me,  as  I  have  done  with  you.  Greatly 
obliged,  sir,  for  your  hospitality,  till  you  are  better 
paid."  In  less  than  a  minute  every  boy  on  the  bank 
had  a  cartridge  in  his  rifle,  and  fifty  balls  were  fall- 
ing about  him.  But  he  was  soon  beyond  their  reach. 
My  bed-fellow  was  a  spy. 

Passing  down  the  James  in  a  gunboat  one  dark 
night,  we  were  obliged  to  stop  on  account  of  the  fog. 
Suddenly  all  on  board  were  aroused  by  the  discharge 
of  two  rifles  in  the  stern.  Two  rebels  had  put  off 
from  the  shore  with  a  torpedo,  to  blow  up  the  boat, 
but  the  watch  was  too  sharp  for  them.  One  was 
killed,  and  the  other  secured. 

When  a  portion  of  the  Army  of  the  Cumberland 
was  near  Franklin,  Tennessee,  a  couple  of  officers 
rode  up  to  the  different  regiments,  representing  them- 
selves as  having  authority  to  inspect  the  position. 


330 


IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 


They  had  nearly  made  the  rounds,  when  some  one 
was  shrewd  enough  to  suspect  their  character.  They 
were  indeed  spies,  and  were  tried  and  executed  at 
once. 

In  Knoxville,  Tennessee,  while  Burnside  was  hold- 
ing the  place,  and  the  country  was  in  great  suspense 
as  to  his  ability  to  withstand  the  force  that  might  be 
sent  against  him,  I  had  a  temporary  home  with  a  cit- 
izen who  professed  to  be  loyal.  He  had  another 
boarder,  a  woman,  who  was  not  only  loyal,  but  rad- 
ical. Being  a  person  of  good  address,  she  found 
favor  with  many  of  the  officers,  and  obtained  from 
them  many  favors.  Occupying,  at  night,  a  room  ad- 
joining hers,  and  awaking  at  the  slightest  sound,  I 
often  heard  a  board  creak  in  her  room  late  at  night. 
"Watching  from,  my  window,  I  thought  I  had  the 
glimpse  of  a  man  passing  near  us,  stooping  down  for  a 
moment,  then  hastening  away.  Keeping  my  suspi- 
cions to  myself,  I  determined  to  watch  for  him. 
There  was  a  corn-crib  near  by,  and  in  this  I  spent 
three  nights  without  making  any  discovery.  During 
the  fourth,  a  little  past  midnight,  I  heard  the  sash 
go  up  gently,  and  in  less  than  half  an  hour  a  man 
was  under  it,  to  receive  something  apparently  passed 
down  by  a  line.  But  soon  he  was  gone.  In  a  few 
minutes  I  emerged  from  my  hiding-place,  and  went 
to  my  room  carefully  as  possible,  determined  to 


IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL.  33 

solve  the  mystery  in  the  morning.  If  this  was  a 
lover  who  came  to  her  window  at  night,  it  was  none  of 
my  business.  But  lovers  are  seldom  content  with 
a  call  so  brief  as  that.  If  this  is  not  a  love  affair, 
she  is  a  spy,  and  that  man  flitting  about  under  her 
window  at  night  is  her  confederate.  She  obtains  the 
information,  and  he  bears  it  to  the  rebel  General. 
But  could  a  woman  with  such  warm  protestations  of 
loyalty,  and  with  such  bitter  hatred  of  the  rebels,  be 
a  spy?  We  shall  see. 

In  the  morning  I  hastened  to  the  office  of  the 
Provost-Marshal  to  tell  him  what  had  been  seen,  but 
it  was  late  before  he  came  in,  and  he  received  my 
statement  with  so  much  indifference,  I  became  dis- 
gusted, and  left  him.  But  on  my  return  to  the  house, 
the  dear  specimen  of  loyalty  had  departed.  She 
had  probably  heard  me  going  to  my  room  after  the 
man  had  called,  and  suspected  that  I  had  seen  too 
much  to  make  her  stay  safe. 

Though  the  Army,  in  all  the  departments,  swarmed 
with  spies,  very  few  were  detected  and  executed. 
It  was  painful,  as  late  as  '63,  to  notice  how  readily 
disloyal  persons  obtained  passes  to  visit  the  Army., 
Any  man  or  woman,  however  open  a  sympathizer 
with  the  South,  could  obtain  a  pass  in  Washington 
just  as  readily  as  a  Union  man.  If  the  Honorable 
Mr.  A.,  or  Judge  B.,  or  the  well-known  Mr.  C., 


332  IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 

would  write  a  man  or  a  woman  an  endorsement, 
there  was  no  trouble  in  obtaining  a  pass.  In  con- 
sequence, every  movement  and  intention  of  the 
commanding  officer  was  known  to  the  rebels  just  as 
early  as  to  our  people.  And,  in  fact,  for  two  years 
rebel  sympathizers  were  treated  as  kindly  by  many 
of  our  leading  men  and  officers  in  the  Army  as 
those  who  were  willing  to  give  their  lives  for  the 
flag.  How  often  did  I  hear  members  of  the  Army 
say  to  Virginians,  or  Tennesseeans,  with  whom  they 
wished  to  be  on  pleasant  terms,  "I  did  not  come 
down  here  to  free  the  'nigger,'  but  to  put  down  the 
rebellion."  Among  many  officers,  more  than  the 
men,  for  a  long  tune,  there  was  no  earnestness  of  pur- 
pose, the  blood  had  not  come  up  to  fever-heat,  and 
they  did  not  fight  with  a  will.  Any  man  who  wished 
to  play  the  spy  could  have  done  so  for  years  without 
detection,  had  he  been  so  disposed.  And  some  did 
this,  as  I  will  show  in  the  next  chapter. 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

SPIES  —  Continued. 

RETURNING  from  the  Western  armies  to  that  of 
the  Potomac,  in  the  spring  of  1864,  my  first  ^/sit 
was  made  to  the  troops  of  the  Sixth  Corps,  under 
Sedgwick.  I  had  not  been  in  camp  five  minutes 
before  almost  every  tent  was  empty.  Over  the  hills, 
up  from  the  valleys,  away  from  Sutlers'  shops,  aban- 
doning all  business,  letter-writing,  roll-correcting, 
mending  clothes,  reading,  lounging,  "old  sledge," 
"euchre,"  practising  new  songs — men  by  hundreds, 
nay,  thousands,  Corporals,  Sergeants,  Lieutenants, 
Captains,  Adjutants,  Chaplains,  Surgeons,  Majors, 
Colonels,  Quartermasters  and  their  Clerks,  Sutlers, 
Mule-drivers,  Cooks,  and  Waiters,  came  with  a 
rush  that  was  terrific  ;  and  all  this  to  see  me  ; — me, 
who  was  not  so  high  as  the  humblest  private.  What 
did  it  mean  ?  What  had  I  done  to  merit  such  at- 
tention? Been  fighting  in  the  ranks,  like  the  young 
Chaplain  who  was  killed  at  Fredericksburg  ?  Or  on 
my  own  hook,  like  the  old  Vermonter?  Nothing  of 
(333) 


334 


IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 


the  kiud.  And  yet  the  men  are  here  in  Brigades  to 
welcome  me.  Cheer  after  cheer  goes  up.  "Turn 
out,  Company  A,  Company  B,  and  Company  C,  and 
see  who  has  come  to  life!"  "Give  us  your  hand, 
old  brother ;  we  have  not  seen  you  since  you  were 
hanging  on  the  tree  at  Frederick  City.  Well,  this 
beats  all  the  ghost-stories,  don't  it?  What's  the 
news  from  the  lower  world  ?  Or  did  you  come  from 
above?  No  matter  which,  just  tell  us  the  news." 
Receiving  the  hearty  greeting  of  hundreds,  I  held 
out  my  hand  to  an  Irishman,  whom  I  remembered, 
and  he  drew  back  with  a  look  of  horror,  exclaiming, 
"Be  off  wid  ye  !  Divil  a  bit  will  I  be  afther  tooch- 
ing  yer  paw,  till  I  know  whether  yer  bes  a  spook, 
or  a  live  man." 

But  the  reader  will  ask  for  an  explanation.  Pre- 
vious to  leaving  the  Eastern  for  the  Western  de- 
partment, I  had  given  a  parting  entertainment  with 
most  of  the  organizations,  telling  all  whither  I  was 
going,  and  my  intentions  of  returning  in  a  few 
months.  I  was  scarcely  out  of  the  Army,  when  a 
man  from  Baltimore  (I  think  his  name  was  Richard- 
son) conceived  the  plan  of  taking  up  my  occupation. 
He  knew  that  I  had  free  range  within  the  lines,  and 
this  was  the  very  privilege  he  coveted.  Procuring 
copies  of  my  songs,  he  had  an  edition  of  them 
printed,  giving  the  words  only,  while  mine  con- 


IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 


335 


tained  the  music,  as  well  as  words,  procured  a  quan- 
tity of  postage-stamps,  and  a  pass,  and  commenced 
business  on  a  limited  scale.  He  gave  no  concerts  or 
entertainments,  offered  but  few  songs  for  sale,  made 
no  special  visits  to  this  or  that  regiment,  was 
never  seen  within  a  hospital.  But  why  did  he  take 
all  this  trouble?  You  shall  see.  He  had  been  a 
spy  from  the  first,  and  thought  that  by  having 
stamps  and"  songs,  and  playing  my  role  in  part,  he 
would  be  enabled  to  see  all  that  was  going  on  with- 
out suspicion.  While  the  Army  was  passing  through 
Maryland  towards  Gettysburg,  the  cavalry  picketed 
all  the  roads  leading  to  Virginia.  This  man  at- 
tempted to  pass  the  guards.  He  had  a  pass,  and  it 
is  said,  though  I  cannot  vouch  for  it,  that  it  was  in 
my  name.  He  was  arrested,  and  searched,  but 
nothing  of  a  suspicious  nature  was  found  on  him. 
General  Kilpatrick  not  being  satisfied,  ordered  that 
he  should  be  searched  still  more  minutely ;  and  yet 
nothing  to  criminate  the  man  was  found.  At  last, 
his  saddle  was  cut  in  pieces,  and  within  it  were  found 
all  the  documents  that  a  spy  would  naturally  have. 
He  made  immediate  confession,  and  begged  for 
mercy;  but  his  trial  took  place  at  once,  lasting  but 
a  few  minutes,  and  he  was  hanged  at  the  limb  of  a 
tree  just  outside  Frederick  City.  After  the  battle 
of  Gettysburg,  the  returning  troops  marched  in 


336  IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 

sight  of  the  tree  and  body,  for  it  remained  in  its 
suspended  position  eight  days,  and  every  member  of 
that  Army  returned  to  Virginia,  believing  he  had 
seen  my  body  hanging  to  a  tree  in  Maryland ;  and  a 
very  kind-hearted  man  went,  with  sorrowful  counte- 
nance, to  break  the  tidings  to  my  family. 

Though  it  seemed  incomprehensible  to  most  of  the 
troops  that  their  old  singer  should  prove  a  traitor, 
yet  they  thought  Southern  gold  might  have  done  the 
work,  and  the  verdict  was  :  "  Served  him  right,  if  he 
was  a  traitor." 

But  why  did  not  some  of  the  men  examine  the 
body  sufficiently  to  determine  its  identity?  They 
tried  their  best  to  do  this,  but,  not  seeing  it  for  a  num- 
ber of  days  after  death,  it  had  become  so  black  and 
swollen,  it  looked  as  much  like  one  man  as  another. 

When  the  men  of  the  Army  of  the  Cumberland 
shall  read  this,  as  many  of  them  will,  they  will  ex- 
press the  utmost  surprise ;  for  there  is  not  one  of 
them  but  knows  a  similar  incident  occurred  there. 
Leaving  that  Army  for  a  season,  the  same  as  the  Po- 
tomac, I  gave  my  parting  entertainments,  before 
starting  for  Vicksburg.  I  was  hardly  out  of  camp, 
when  a  spy  proceeded,  like  Richardson  of  Balti- 
more, to  supply  himself  with  my  songs,  but,  unlike 
him,  omitting  the  postage-stamps.  He  was  soon 
moving  about,  from  camp  to  camp,  very  quietly 


IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 


337 


making  observations ;  but  if  any  one  asked  him  his 
business,  he  showed  the  songs,  saying  that  he  had 
them  for  sale.  He  played  his  part  but  a  very  short 
time.  He  was  arrested,  searched,  and  in  his  boots 
were  found  drawings  of  the  fortifications,  the  loca- 
tion of  every  Division  of  the  Army,  as  well  as  pa- 
pers "intended  to  impart  important  information  to 
General  Bragg.  He  was  not  tried  on  the  day  of 
arrest,  but  confined  in  the  Murfreesboro'  jail.  The 
building  not  having  the  best  of  bolts  and  fastenings, 
he  succeeded  in  breaking  them,  and  passing  the  jail- 
guard,  the  first  night.  Taking  the  pike  for  Tulla- 
homa,  he  encountered  a  picket  at  the  bridge  adjoin- 
ing the  town,  and  was  ordered  to  halt.  Knowing 
that  to  obey  was  certain  death,  while  to  refuse  would 
draw  the  fire  of  but  one  rifle,  he  preferred  to  give  no 
heed,  but  run  the  risk  of  a  bullet,  though  he  was  so 
ironed  he  could  run  but  little.  But  the  guard  took 
careful  aim,  and,  dark  though  it  was,  he  was  shot 
dead  on  the  spot,  and  a  few  hours  only  was  needed 
to  spread  the  news  from  Division  to  Division  that 
the  Army  Poet  and  Balladist  was  shot  as  a  spy. 
Army  correspondents  sent  the  news  to  their  papers, 
and  fifty  of  them  told  the  strange  story  to  a  million 
of  readers.  Strangely  enough,  it  was  months  be- 
fore it  came  to  my  ears,  for  I  had  gone  to  still  another 
department.  My  friends  in  Nashville  had  published 


338  IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 

a  contradiction,  but,  while  the  falsehood  went  with 
lightning  speed,  the  truth  scarcely  got  out  of  Ten- 
nessee in  six  months. 

I  have  been  disposed  to  regard  these  incidents  as 
rather  hard  jokes  on  mysolf,  but  they  were  much 
harder  for  the  men  who  lost  their  lives.  I  would 
here  say  that  though  not  possessing  the  necessary 
qualifications  for  a  scout,  and  with  no  talent  for 
dissembling  to  advantage,  I  did  once  in  a  while  have 
an  opportunity  to  try  the  art  of  deceiving  on  the 
rebels,  and  sometimes  with  success.  The  following 
incident  will  illustrate : 

Wishing  to  obtain  a  new  edition  of  my  songs,  which 
could  not  be  printed  at  Nashville,  I  obtained  per- 
mission of  General  Robert  Mitchell  to  go  to  Louis- 
ville for  that  purpose.  On  arriving  at  Mumfordsville, 
Kentucky,  the  train  was  sent  back  in  haste,  for  the 
rebels  had  destroyed  the  bridges  and  torn  up  much 
of  the  track.  About  to  leave  the  train,  I  invited  any 
of  my  companions  who  saw  fit  to  accompany  me  ; 
but  no  one  accepting  the  invitation,  I  started  out 
alone.  Calling  at  a  farm-house  for  information  with 
regard  to  the  roads,  I  found  the  parties  were  in  re- 
ality know-nothings.  Did  they  "know  where  Mor- 
gan's men  were?"  "No."  Did  they  "know  when 
the  bridges  were  destroyed?"  "No."  Did  they 
"know  how  far  it  was  to  Louisville?"  "No."  Or 


IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL.  339 

"to  Lebanon  Junction?"  "No."  " Or  to  Elizabeth- 
town?"  "No,  but  it  was  a  right  smart  piece." 
"Which road  shall  I  take?" 

"I  reckon  if  you  want  to  keep  shet  of  Morgan,  you 
had  better  keep  off  the  pike,  and  take  the  wagin 
road  that  runs  by  the  railroad,  and,  if  you  are  not 
afeard  to  travel  in  the  dark,  I  reckon  you  had  better 
push  on  to-night,  for  war  times  is  strange  times,  and 
we  don't  know  our  neighbors." 

Whether  he  was  afraid  of  me,  or  afraid  some  one 
would  harm  me,  I  could  not  determine,  but  concluded 
to  take  his  advice,  and  push  on.  The  night  was  cool 
and  cloudy,  yet  some  stars  came  out  occasionally, 
showing  me  that  my  general  course  was  the  right 
one.  Carrying  nothing  -but  a  staff,  I  pushed  on, 
trusting  in  Providence.  Though  not  able  to  turn  my 
ears  like  a  horse  or  mule,  to  catch  the  sounds  ahead, 
if  any  should  come  from  that  direction,  a  horseman 
approaching  from  the  front  could  be  heard  a  goodly 
distance ;  for  the  ground  "was  just  a  little  frozen, 
except  where  there  was  sand.  Turning  into  the 
woods,  or  leaping  a  fence,  took  but  a  few  minutes,  if 
I  heard  approaching  footsteps  of  man  or  beast.  In 
that  lonely  tramp  I  made,  as  afterwards  ascertained, 
thirty -two  miles,  from  sunset  to  sunrise ;  for  at  the. 
latter  time  I  was  in  sight  of  Elizabethtown.  About 
midnight  it  was  my  purpose  to  stop  till  morning. 


34° 


IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 


Not  daring  to  enter  a  house,  I  looked  for  a  barn,  but 
that  is  an  institution  not  plenty  on  that  road.  There 
was,  however,  a  corn-crib,  and  this  was  taken  pos- 
session of,  without  asking  leave  of  the  owner.  It 
was  not  made  to  exclude  the  air,  but  invite  it. 
Having  a  blanket  and  my  overcoat,  I  thought  I  might 
not  suffer  from  the  cold,  and  get  a  few  hours'  sleep. 
Corn-cribs  may  make  excellent  dormitories  in  July, 
but  they  are  not  just  the  thing  in  December.  Out- 
side, the  night  was  perfectly  calm,  but  a  current  of 
cold  air  came  through  the  interstices  of  this  pen, 
penetrating  my  covering,  and  in  a  few  minutes  I  was 
shaking  as  with  the  ague.  -Covering  myself  with 
the  corn  in  the  ear,  I  found  no  relief,  and  soon  a  last 
farewell  was  taken  of  the  crib. 

Coming  in  sight  of  Elizabethtown,  I  saw  a  great 
amount  of  smoke,  as  if  buildings  were  on  fire,  and, 
instead  of  entering  the  town,  made  a  detour  of 
a  mile  or  more,  and  called  at  a  house  for  break- 
fast. There  had  been  a  skirmish  between  our  men 
and  Morgan's  the  day  before,  when  our  force  was 
defeated  and  driven  off,  and  from  some  cause 
many  of  the  buildings  burned.  Learning  there  were 
but  twelve  miles  more  of  dangerous  road  before  ine, 
my  hopes  were  buoyant.  If  the  farmer  could  be  be- 
lieved, he  had  taken  no  part  in  the  "  scrimmage,  "  as 
he  called  the  war.  He  had  been  at  Lebanon  June- 


IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL.  34I 

tion  the  day  before,  and  he  said  a  large  force  of  our 
men  had  just  arrived  there. 

Eefreshed  by  a  good  breakfast,  I  had  made  scarcely 
six  miles  when  I  discovered  a  small  body  of  troops 
encamped  in  a  ravine  a  little  north  of  the  big  tunnel 
of  the  railroad,  some  five  miles  south  of  the  Junc- 
tion. It  needed  but  one  look  to  know  they  were  a 
squad  of  rebels,  and  in  all  probability  a  portion  of 
Morgan's  men.  It  was  too  late  to  retreat.  They 
had  seen  me,  as  soon  as  I  them.  They  had  horses, 
I  was  on  foot.  They  were  armed,  I  was  not.  Look- 
ing as  unconcerned  as  possible,  I  passed  on  unnoticed 
by  the  warriors,  who  were  baiting  their  horses  and 
taking  a  lunch,  till  the  farther  limit  of  their  camp  was 
almost  reached,  when  one  of  their  number  rose  from  a 
log  by  the  road,  presented  his  carbine,  and  pronounced 
that  very  suggestive  word,  "Halt!"  The  second 
hint  was  not  needed.  Its  full  meaning  was  compre- 
hended at  once.  Not  a  word  passed  between  us,  but, 
on  his  sending  word  to  his  superiors,  two  of  them 
made  their  appearance,  when  the  following  dialogue 
ensued : 

"Are  you  a  citizen  of  this  neighborhood?  " 

"  I  am  not." 

"Where  do  you  belong?" 

Thinking  it  best  they  should  not  know  they  had  a 
New  Englander  in  hand,  it  was  not  convenient,  for  a 


343  IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 

minute,  to  tell  my  residence.     Somewhat  agitated,  in 
fact,  more  than  a  little  frightened,  I  said  : 

"  I  hope  you  are  not  going  to  harm  an  unarmed 
citizen  ?  " 

"I  asked,  where  do  you  belong?  " 

"In  Illinois." 

' '  Where  have  you  been  ?  " 

"  Down  to  the  Army." 

"  For  what  purpose  ?  " 

w  To  carry  some  comforts  to  boys  from  our  neigh- 
borhood, who  are  in  hospitals." 

"  When  did  you  leave  the  Army  ?  " 

"  I  left  Nashville  yesterday ;   the  Army  was  not 
there,  and  had  not  been  for  a  number  of  weeks." 

"  Was  there  any  news  from  the  Army  ?  " 

"  Did  not  hear  any." 

"Did  not  you  hear  any  news?" 

"  Heard  there  was  a  little  brush,  and  that  the  rebels 
got  the  worst  of  it." 

"  You  said  you  lived  in  Illinois.     In  what  part, — 
that  is,  city,  town,  or  county?" 

"  I  live,  sir,  in  the  town  of  Lane." 

"Where  is  Lane?" 
."In  Illinois." 

"But  in  what  part  of  Illinois?" 

"  Seventy-five  miles  west  of  Chicago." 

"How  do  you  reach  it?" 


IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 


343 


"  Go  to  Louisville,  thence  to  Indianapolis,  thence 
to  Fort  Wayne,  thence  to  Chicago,  and  "then  take 
the  Dixou  Air-Line  towards  the  Mississippi." 

"  Have  you  any  papers  about  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,  here  is  a  pass,  and  some  cards." 

"  Yes  ;  I  see,  this  is  a  pass  to  go  to  Louisville  and 
return.  What  is  the  return  for?  If  you  have  been 
down  to  see  some  sick  men,  and  are  on  your  way 
home,  I  do  not  see  why  you  wished  a  pass  to  go  back 
to  Nashville." 

"  Well,  sir,  I  had  some  business  in  Louisville,  and 
that  is  the  reason  why  I  came,  instead  of  one  of  the 
fathers  of  the  sick  boys.  One  of  these  boys  is  very 
low,  and  he  may  not  live  ;  in  fact,  I  am  pretty  cer- 
tain he  will  not,  and  I  am  going  to  Louisville  to 
transact  my  business,  and  if  he  dies,  shall  return  to 
take  his  body  home." 

"I  think,  sir,  you  have  more  papers  than  these 
about  you,  and  shall  be  under  the  necessity  of 
searching  your  person.  You  will  hand  me  your 
pistol." 

"Don't  carry  the  article,  sir." 

He  searched  my  overcoat,  dress-coat,  linings, 
sleeves  and  pockets,  but  found  nothing;  vest  the 
same.  "Turn  your  pants  pockets !  I  will  take 
this!"  reaching  his  hand,  and  taking  my  wallet. 
"Now  your  boots  and  socks!  All  right!  Put  on 


344 


IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 


your  clothes !  I  will  see  you  again  I "  lu  a  little 
while  he  came  back,  handed  me  my  pass,  but  forgot 
the  money.  Asking  him  for  permission  to  proceed, 
I  received  the  cool  reply  : 

"You  can  act  your  pleasure ;  you  can  go  or  stay. 
If  you  prefer  to  remain,  you  shall  be  welcome  to  our 
hospitality." 

As  a  travelling  ticket  was  as  cheap  as  a  staying 
one,  I  took  the  former.  I  had  been  honored  with  a 
little  fright,  and  the  loss  of  some  twenty  dollars  in 
money.  But  the  only  point  that  makes  the  story 
worth  telling  is  this  :  on  nay  person  were  ten  twenty- 
dollar  notes,  as  good  as  Uncle  Sam  ever  made,  and 
some  smaller  bills.  During  the  preceding  night, 
tramping  solitarily  over  the  dismal  road,  one  of  my 
subjects  of  meditation  was  the  disposition  of  my 
greenbacks,  if  molested.  They  could  be  placed  in 
my  boot,  under  my  waistcoat,  on  my  shoulder,  hold- 
ing them  in  place  by  a  pin  under  the  suspender,  in 
this  place  and  in  that,  but  none  were  satisfactory. 
Now  I  have  it :  separating  the  ten  larger  notes  from 
the  smaller  ones,  returning  the  latter  to  the  wallet, 
and  taking  strips  of  paper  to  bind  the  notes  as  closely 
as  possible,  sticking  the  strips  together  with  postage- 
stamps,  and  removing  my  wig,  I  laid  the  package 
carefully  in  the  top  thereof,  and,  replacing  it  on  my 
head,  it  seemed  as  natural  as  ever.  Though  not  able 


IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL.  34- 

to  see  myself,  I  felt  sure  the  proper  place  to  hide  the 
money,  in  an  emergency,  had  been  selected.  The 
occasion  came.  The  first  thing,  after  discovering  the 
guerillas,  and  comprehending  my  situation,  was  to 
transfer  the  two  hundred  dollars  to  my  wig,  which 
was  accomplished  while  pretending  to  cool  my  uncov- 
ered head.  I  know  not  how  costly  the  wigs  of  the 
olden  time  were,  but  mine  was  of  more  value  than 
any  now  seen  in  the  shop- windows.  From  its  cost 
price,  it  had  advanced,  in  a  short  time,  just  two 
hundred  dollars.  Eobbery  by  guerillas  was  an  every- 
day occurrence,  but  I  know  of  no  one,  besides  my- 
self, who  ever  cheated  them  out  of  their  intended 
plunder  by  secreting  it  under  a  wig.  Not  proposing 
to  patent  the  method,  I  give  travellers  in  dangerous 
localities  the  benefit  of  my  experience. 


346          Swinging  around  the  circle. 

E.   W.  Locke. 


1.    A     bold  and  mighty    tailor    went    on   a  Western  trip,        To 


see  his  new  re  -  la  -  tious.     And     ex  •  er  -  else     his     lip,        And 

ijzr^ —      — g — p — ^_ z2 

though  for  choicest  whiskey       he      scarcely  cared     a      fip,        Yet, 


just     to    be       in    fashion,        He      oft  -  en     took     a      nip. 

CHORUS. 


W         V 

Swinging  round  the     cir  -  cle,        Swinging  round  the     cir  -  cle, 


dzizz*1'' — * — IT — *     I    ~i*       -hi  -h  '  fr     ^     i>.     1 .1* 

Swinging  round  the     cir  -  cle,       With   An  -  dy     on     the  brain; 

fe^iE?=*EEfe 


pi— e 


Swinging  round  the  cir  -  cle,        Swinging  round  the  cir  -  cle,    He 

-f- 


347 


:^g._^;_^_ji£j._^4=S|=g-^:— , 

sardfri 


might  have  still  been  swinging,  If     he     had     not  heard  from  Maine. 

N 


He  took  his  uncle  Billy  to  help  him  on  his  way, 
To  keep  him  out  of  danger,  and  tell  him  what  to  say; 
And,  lest  by  lead  or  poison  some  wretch  should  try  to  slay, 
He  took  his  Parson  Nasby  to  stand  on  guard  and  pray. 

3. 

The  people  flocked  to  see  him  as  country  people  do, 
To  see  a  Gi-as-cu-tis,  or  any  monster  new  ; 
The  noble  Chieftain  rises,  the  people  get  a  view, 
He  leaves  the  Constitution  and  bids  them  all  adieu. 

4. 

He  heard  the  Western  thunders  peal  out  from  state  to  state, 
He  saw  the  lurid  lightnings  record  his  coming  fate, 
But  worse  than  fiercest  lightning  he  found  the  people's  hate, 
And  thought  about  repentance,  alas  !  it  was  too  late  ! 

5. 

Their  hearts  becoming  shaky,  they  hurry  o'er  the  rail, 
Poor  Andy's  badly  frightened,  while  Billy's  deadly  pale; 
The  tempest's  growing  fearful,  the  stoutest  hearted  quail, 
They  speed  away  for  safety,  like  birds  before  a  gale. 

6. 

The  moments  running  swiftly,  each  man  begins  to  sink; 
Poor  Seward  takes  to  physic,  while  Andy  takes  more  drink  j 
And  ere  the  precious  brothers  have  reached  life's  closing  wink, 
They  send  in  haste  for  Beecher,  who's  lost  his  negro  kink. 
By  permission  of  G.  D.  RUSSELL  &  Co.,  126  Tremont  Street,  Boston. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

THREE  QUADROONS  AND  THEIR  MOTHER. 

IN  Chatanooga,  shortly  after  the  battle  of  Lookout 
Mountain,  I  became  acquainted  with  five  persons, 
•whom  I  must  introduce  to  my  readers  before  taking 
leave  of  them.  I  would  like  to  devote  a  few  pages 
to  the  battle,  but  it  has  been  so  often  described 
in  books  and  papers,  I  will  omit  further  mention  of 
it.  Of  Chatanooga  at  that  time,  I  will  only  say,  that 
the  most  noted  feature  was  the  mud.  If  one  exam- 
ined his  boots  in  the  morning,  he  could  tell  in  what 
quarter  of  the  city  he  had  been  the  previous  night, 
for  there  were  at  least  three  different  kinds  of  that 
very  adhesive  article,  each  peculiar  to  certain  quar- 
ters of  the  town. 

Being  confined  to  a  house  a  month,  I  was  for- 
tunate in  having  for  a  companion  a  young  physi- 
cian from  Ohio,  who  had  come  to  the  place  to  gain 
information  in  hospital  practice.  But  he  was  taken 
ill,  and  we  were  invalids  together ;  our  rooms  being 
on  the  second  floor,  and  adjoining.  He  was  quite 
1348) 


IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL.  349 

young,  seemed  to  be  well  read  in  his  profession, 
ambitious  to  rise,  possessed  of  a  noble  nature,  which 
had  been  developed  and  refined  by  contact  with  noble 
minds. 

Our  fare  was  not  only  good,  but  we  were  treated 
almost  as  well  as  we  could  have  been  in  our  own 
house.  Of  food,  the  variety  was  small,  but  the  cook- 
ing was  perfect,  and  such  care  and  attention  are 
seldom  received  from  strangers.  The  bed-linen, 
towels  and  napkins  were  as  white,  and  without  spot, 
as  those  of  the  Fifth  Avenue  Hotel.  Every  hour, 
from  early  morning  till  bed-time,  regularly  as  the 
kitchen  clock  struck,  a  dark  face  and  turbaned  head 
were  visible  at  the  door,  when,  prefaced  with  a  light 
rap,  the  question  would  come,  "Please  am  any- 
thing wanted  now  ?  " 

Not  only  the  cooking,  but  all  the  domestic  affairs, 
were  under  the  direction  of  a  mulatto  woman  of 
forty-five.  Her  face  was  very  fair,  her  form  straight 
and  beautiful  as  a  statue.  Her  voice  soft,  and  her 
eyes  bright  and  sparkling,  as  a  girl's.  Early  and 
late  she  was  at  her  work,  but  with  so  little  noise 
that  one  would  hardly  know  she  was  in  the  room, 
but  for  a  sweet  low  humming  of  some  religious  mel- 
ody she  always  indulged  in,  except  when  taking  her 
meals,  or  talking. 

The  mistress  of  the  house  was  seldom  seen  except 


350  AV  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 

Saturday  iiight,  when  she  called  for  her  ten-dollar 
greenback  from  the  young  physician  and  myself. 
She  had  a  daughter  who  might  possibly  be  called 
an  invalid,  though  it  is  probable  her  disease  was 
spleen,  if  anything,  and  the  two  spent  most  of  their 
time  by  themselves,  while  the  mulatto  woman  was, 
in  reality,  the  head  of  the  family.  If  there  was 
a  husband,  I  never  saw  or  heard  of  him. 

But  this  was  not  all  the  household.  The  colored 
woman  had  three  daughters,  all  quadroons,  and  none 
of  them  own  sisters.  The  name  of  the  oldest,  and 
by  far  the  handsomest,  was  Kitty ;  of  the  youngest, 
Fannie ;  and  of  the  other  I  cannot  tell.  She  was 
called  Meddie;  but  what  it  was  a  contraction  of, 
or  substitute  for,  I  know  not.  Kitty  was,  perhaps, 
eighteen,  Meddie  about  fourteen,  and  "Little  Fan," 
as  her  mother  called  her,  about  six.  Each  one  was 
so  beautiful,  that  no  one  could  pass  her  without 
gazing  with  admiration  ;  but  the  oldest  was  the  pic- 
ture of  the  group.  The  two  younger  were  often  in 
the  yard,  and  their  beauty  was  such  that  the  soldiers 
marked  the  place  where  they  resided,  and  called  it 
the  house  of  the  pretty  quadroons.  They  were  al- 
ways taken,  at  first  sight,  for  white  children ;  but 
their  lips,  and  peculiar  shade,  as  well  as  their  kinky 
hair,  revealed  the  quadroon,  at  a  moment's  obser- 


IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL.  35 1 

vation.  The  teamsters,  who  passed  the  house  daily, 
always  looked  for  them. 

"What  do  you  think  of  that  sight,  John?" 

"Beautiful ;  but  isn't  it  too  bad?" 

"Didn't  I  tell  you  there  was  a  sight  here  you  never 
dreamed  of?" 

"If  I  were  in  Louisville,  instead  of  this  mud-hole, 
can  you  guess  what  I  would  do  ?  " 

"You  would  go  home,  and  go  to  farming,  instead 
of  riding  that  saddle-mule  seven  days  in  the  week 
on  Army  fare  and  pay!" 

"No  sir ;  I  would  just  put  these  two  girls  into  my 
wagon,  take  them  out  of  the  city,  put  them  on  the 
train  for  Michigan,  and  give  them  a  chance  for  their 
lives.  A  few  years  hence,  and  they  will  be  concu- 
bines to  some  infernal  white  scoundrel ;  and  I  would 
just  like  to  steal  them,  and  give  them  freedom." 

No  wonder  the  teamsters  talked  of  them.  Among 
a  thousand  white  children,  they  would  have  attracted 
attention  ;  alone,  they  seemed  like  two  fairies  flitting 
about  the  yard  among  the  crocuses,  daffodils,  and 
the  blossoming  peach-trees.  But  the  beauty  of  the 
trio  was  never  seen  in  the  yard.  If  she  had  been, 
she  would  have  been  taken  for  a  lovely  daughter  of 
the  proprietor  of  the  mansion.  Symmetrical  and 
graceful  as  a  fawn,  modest  in  every  look  and  move- 
ment, apparently  tit  to  adorn  a  palace ;  yet  always 


.352 


IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 


busy  in  some  domestic  duty,  there  was  nothing  but 
the  waves  in  the  hair,  and  her  peculiar  African  voice, 
that  gave  evidence  that  she,  like  her  less  beautiful 
sisters,  was  a  quadroon.  But  I  will  pass  her,  at 
present,  for  something  about  the  mother. 

On  a  previous  page,  I  have  referred  to  her  coming 
to  our  rooms  at  the  end  of  every  hour.  I  believe 
that  but  for  the  task  of  the  poor  soul  being  so  heavy, 
we  should  have  rung  the  bell  often,  to  have  her  sat- 
isfy some  imaginary  want.  But  this  would  not  have 
answered.  No  white  woman  had  keener  percep- 
tions. Works  of  necessity  she  could  find  time,  and 
was  always  ready  to  do,  but  for  no  one,  not  even 
her  children,  would  she  do  anything  unnecessary. 
After  we  were  able  to  leave  our  beds,  we  spent 
most  of  the  pleasant  days  walking  about  the  yard. 
The  mistress  spent  most  of  her  time  during  the 
day,  either  in  her  room,  or  with  an  invalid  sis- 
ter out  of  the  city.  This  gave  us  a  good  oppor- 
tunity to  see  much  of  the  colored  family.  Auntie 
was  willing  we  should  go  into  the  kitchen  in  the 
afternoon,  when  there  was  no  cooking  under  way. 
She  stipulated  that  ,we  might  come  when  she  was 
sewing;  but  said,  "The  kitchen  am  no  place  for 
men-folks,  and  sartain  none  for  white  men-folks, 
when  the  cookin',  the  washin',  and  the  bukiii'  am 
gwine  on."  Her  afternoon  dress  was  a  nice  de- 


IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL.  353 

laine,  good  enough  for  any  woman,  with  a  fit 
that  was  faultless.  She  had  small  feet  and  ankles, 
and  wore  a  pair  of  shoes  she  had  made  from  a  piece 
of  tent-cloth.  She  would  have  been  a  most  agree- 
able companion  for  a  sick  man  during  a  lonesome 
afternoon,  even  had  she  been  a  mulatto  of  only  ordi- 
nary intelligence.  But  her  wisdom  was  much  more 
remarkable  than  her  personal  attractions.  Unable 
to  read,  yet  anything  worth  remembering,  read  or 
told,  in  her  presence,  was  not  often  forgotten.  If 
we  repeated  a  passage  of  Scripture  incorrectly,  she 
would  instantly  say,  "Please  mas'r,  I  specks  you 
am  jes  a  little  wrong;"  and  seldom  was  she  mis- 
taken, even  to  an  article  or  preposition. 

I  have  tried  to  preserve  some  of  her  sayings,  but 
find,  in  attempting  to  write  them,  it  is  impossible  to 
do  her  justice.  Mrs.  Stowe  could  do  it,  and  yet, 
though  it  be  a  failure,  I  will  do  my  best.  Looking 
into  her  room,  and  finding  her  alone,  with  her  sew- 
ing iii  hand,  and  taking  the  proffered  seat,  I  com- 
menced the  conversation : 

"You  have  some  very  beautiful  children,  Auntie; 
I  suppose  you  are  very  proud  of  them  ? " 

"Indeed,  sometimes  when  I  looks  at  them,  it  'pears 
like  they  am  beautiful ;  but  I  specks  other  mothers 
feel  jes  as  I  does.  But  I  specks  I  knows  the  differ- 
ence atween  one  flower  and  another,  whether  it  am 
23 


354 


IN    CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 


in  my  garden  or  not.  I  specks  I  am  proud  of  them. 
May  the  good  Lord  forgive  me ;  I  am  ever  gettin'  out 
of  the  right  way. " 

"Where  is  your  husband,  Auntie?" 

"O,  now  you  knows  better  than  that.  You  have 
eyes,  and  ears,  too.  Now  if  you  specks  me  to  talk 
with  you,  you  must  have  no  nonsense  ;  you  must  not 
try  to  get  anything  out  of  me  by  cunnin',  but  jes  ax 
me  what  yer  wants  to  know,  and,  if  it  am  proper,  I 
will  tell  you.  These  gals  am  all  my  mas'rs'  chil'ii, 
not  one's,  but  all  different.  And  now  I  specks  you 
reckon  me  a  bad  woman,  but  I  knows  better." 

"  We  will  not  talk  about  that.  What  do  you  think 
of  the  war?" 

"Indeed,  I  dunno ;  I  specks  it  am  none  of  my 
business.  When  I  thinks  how  manjr  poor  men  suf- 
fer and  die,  who  knows  no  more  what  it  am  about 
nor  I,  .then  I  gets  riled  up ;  but  then  I  can  jes  do 
nuffin'  at  all." 

"But  do  you  take  no  interest  in  being  made  free? 
If  the  North  succeeds,  your  people  will  be  made 
free." 

"Indeed,  I  specks  they  will,  and  I  am  glad,  for 
my  people's  sake,  and  gladder  for  my  chil'n's  sake  ; 
but,  for  me,  it  done  matter  much.  If  I  am  free  to- 
day, what  could  I  do?  No  house,  no  land,  and  my 
friends  jes  as  poor  as  I." 


IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 


355 


"But  Government  will  help  you." 

"That  may  be  ;  but  seem'  am  believing." 

"Are  you  contented  in  your  condition  of  servi- 
tude?" 

"Indeed  I  is  not,  all  the  time ;  but  what  is  the 
use  of  frettin',  and  wantin'  to  change,  unless  you  can 
do  better?  I  specks  you  am  not  contented,  all  the 
time,  with  your  lot." 

"No  ;  but  I  am  free  to  improve,  according  to  op- 
portunity and  ability." 

"I  specks  I  should  love  freedom,  and,  if  the  Lord 
gives  it,  I  shall  make  the  best  use  I  can  of  it.  You 
can  help  us,  by  the  'sistance  of  the  Lord,  to  be  free, 
but  you  cannot  make  white  folks  of  black  ones.  We 
has  different  blood." 

"We  will  educate  your  people,  and  they  will 
greatly  improve." 

"That  am  most  likely ;  but  the  blood  am  not  alike. 
I  specks  you  couldn't  tell  a  white  man's  blood  from  a 
black  man's,  but  it  makes  different  men  and  women. 
I  tell  you,  I  studies  a  heap  about  the  blood.  I  once 
seen  through  a  'scope  into  the  water,  and  there  was 
the  horridest  critters  in  the  water  we  drink ;  and  I 
often  wonders  what  I  would  see  in  the  blood  with 
that  glass.  There  am  strange  things  in  some  blood, 
though  we  cannot  see  them.  There  am  scrofula, 
consumption,  heart-disease  and  cancer ;  there  am 


356  IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 

stealin'  and  lyin',  and  hate,  and  false  friendship,  and 
lust  in  the  blood ;  and  so  there  am  all  sorts  of  good 
in  it." 

w  Why,  Auntie,  you  are  quite  profound.  You  will 
make  a  good  doctress,  when  you  and  your  people 
obtain  their  freedom." 

"  Laws,  indeed,  and  don't  I  doctor  now  ?  I  reckon 
I  has  a  heap  of  patients  most  all  the  time.  But  I 
jes  tell  yer  there  is  not  sich  a  difference  in  our  en- 
joyment, after  all.  Dun  yer  hear  my  Kitty  sing 
every  day  jes  like  a  medder  lark  ?  I  specks  she  have 
not  much  to  sing  for,  no  father  to  own  her  when  he 
see  her,  no  home,  no  nuffin',  but  a  poor  old  mother 
who  love  her  from  her  head  to  her  feet,  and  yet,  who 
am  so  happy  as  my  Kitty?  She  am  jes  like  the 
honeycomb,  all  running  over  with  sweetness.  She 
love  everybody,  and  everybody  love  her.  There  am 
no  white  gal  in  town  half  so  happy  as  Kitty.  The 
colored  folks  am  happier  than  the  whites.  I  have 
not  hearn  the  Mis'ress,  nor  Miss  Liza,  nor  any  white 
woman  laugh  loud  for  a  year." ' 

M  And  why  is  Kitty  so  happy  ?  Have  you  taught 
her  how  to  be  happy  ?  " 

"Why,  bless  your  dear  heart,  she  have  teached 
me  every  day  since  she  were  a  little  one  in  my  lap. 
It  am  in  her  blood.  She  am  jes  like  her  father.  I 
finds  it  hard  teachin'  folks  to  be  good.  It  do  every- 


IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 


357 


body  some  good  to  sperience  religion,  but  it  do  some 
a  heap  more  nor  others.  I  have  found  the  Pearl  of 
Great  Price.  I  knows  my  sperience  have  done  a 
heap  for  me ;  but  still,  I  am  so  fretful,  and  when  I  am 
spit  upon  I  never  turns  the  other  cheek  till  I  spits 
back  again ;  and  Kitty,  without  a  sperieuce,  am  better 
nor  I  with  one." 

"  Was  Kitty  always  a  good  and  obedient  child  ?  " 

"Indeed  from  a  baby  :  as  I  told  you,  it  am  in  her 
blood.  She  need  no  whippin'  nor  scoldin'.  But  if 
you  wish  to  see  fire,  you  can  see  it  in  Meddie.  She, 
poor  chile,  have  her  father's  bad  temper,  and  mine 
too.  When  I  punishes  her  I  jes  do  the  same  as  when 
I  have  dirty  dishes  to  wash.  Warm  water  will  do 
for  the  cups  and  spoons,  but  when  I  comes  to  a  dirty 
platter,  then  I  must  have  the  hot  water,  so  hot  I 
cannot  bear  my  hand  in  it,  and  then  I  gets  it  clean, 
and  so  with  them  chil'n.  One  can  be  wash  clean 
with  any  water,  but  the  other  must  have  it  hot." 

"  I  suppose  you  love  them  equally,  notwithstand- 
ing the  difference  in  disposition  ?  " 

"Indeed  I  do  !  But  which  am  the  best  disposi- 
tion? Kitty  am  all  love,  ancf  jes  like  a  lump  of 
putty ;  I  specks  something  will  happen  to  her.  But 
Meddie,  though  her  temper  come  up  like  a  flash  of 
powder,  would  die  afore  she  would  do  wrong.  I 


358  IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 

risk  that  chile.  Only  a  cruel  mas'r  could  make  her 
do  wrong." 

"But  it  seems  to  me  you  ought  to  desire  freedom, 
particularly  on  account  of  your  beautiful  children." 

"Yes,  you  calls  them  beautiful,  and  so  do  every- 
body. But  suppose  they  were  free,  they  have  the 
hated  black  blood,  and  slave  or  free,  it  show  itself. 
What  white  man  what  have  spectable  relations  would 
marry  a  quadroon?  My  chil'n  may  marry  men  of 
their  own  race,  but  they  will  be  more  likely  to 
marry  down  than  up.  They  am  so  handsome  that 
they  will  be  seeked  not  only  by  their  own  race,  but 
by  white  men,  as  was  their  mother,  and  ruin  will  fol- 
low. I  tell  you  I  have  no  hopes  at  all.  What  the 
Lord  do  I  know  am  right.  There  am  a  great  gulf 
atween  our  people  and  yours.  No  matter  how  little 
of  the  hated  black  blood  in  the  body,  it  am  enough 
to  curse  it.  Not  so  with  the  red  man.  White  folks 
am  proud  that  their  great-grandfathers  were  red 
men." 

"  But  Christians  are  growing  better.  They  will 
learn  to  deal  justly  by  your  race." 

"Mebbe  they  will*  They  cannot  learn  too  soon. 
I  reckon  when  they  see  it  will  put  money  in  their 
pockets,  they  will  do  it.  There  am  nothin'  a  white 
man  love  like  money.  I  specks  if  I  were  free,  these 
old  hands  would  have  to  scrub  the  floor,  and  use  the 


IN   CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 


359 


wash-tub,  and  tend  to  the  house -work,  jes  the  same 
as  now.  I  hopes  if  we  is  gwine  to  be  made  free, 
that  we  are  not  to  be  left  as  we  are.  We  am  poor, 
ignorant  critters.  What  can  we  be  without  larnin'? 
,  What  am  a  white  man  without  larnin'  and  money  ? 
We  may  be  made  free,  but  we  shall  be  as  we  am 
now,  and  as  God's  people  of  old  were,  'hewers  of 
wood,  and  drawers  of  water.' " 

But  the  poor  woman  was  destined  to  meet  that  af- 
fliction that  comes  to  so  many  of  our  race.  Little 
Fannie  was  taken  with  the  scarlet  fever,  and  died 
after  a  few  days'  suffering.  The  loss  of  this  little 
flower  created  a  scene  in  that  household  no  pen  can 
describe.  The  sad  news  took  wings,  and  the  house 
was  constantly  thronged.  First  came  the  neighbors, 
white  as  well  as  black ;  for  every  one  that  knew  the 
child  loved  her.  Then  came  the  colored  people 
from  the  outskirts  of  the  city,  and  from  the  country. 
I  dreaded  to  see  a  fresh  arrival.  The  poor  mother 
broke  out  into  uncontrollable  wailing,  and  her  heart 
was  wrung  with  fresh  anguish  at  every  new  face  she 
met.  But  the  paroxysms  did  not  last  many  minutes. 
After  the  tears  and  moans,  she  could  tell  each  group 
that  came  the  story  of  Little  Fannie's  sickness  and 
death.  Repeating  it  almost  word  for  word  fifty 
times,  "O,  but  I  kuowd  the  chile  must  die.  I  had 
a  wision.  I  saw  her  come  out  of  a  dark  prison, 


360  AV  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 

with  a  face  that  shine  like  the  brightest  gold.  O, 
yes ;  bright  as  the  sun,  and  I  could  not  look  at  it. 
She  had  no  wings,  but  she  jes  soar  away  into  the 
sky,  and  she  sing  the  sweetest  song  ever  heard  by 
mortal  ears.  I  call  to  her,  and  call  again,  but  she 
hear  me  not.  All  the  time  of  her  sickness,  she  tell . 
of  bein'  down  by  a  great  river,  and  that  a  kind  man 
would  carry  her  over.  And  then  siie  would  see 
sweet  chil'n  with  garlans  and  flowers,  and  she  say 
they  call  her  their  sister.  O,  then  I  knowd  that  the 
Lord  was  gwine  to  call  for  her — her,  instead  of  me, 
who  am  not  fit  to  die.  The  Lord  call  them  that  is 
fittest  first." 

But  the  time  for  the  funeral  came,  and  the  minis- 
ter for  the  occasion  was  a  colored  man.  There  was 
nothing  striking  in  the  sermon,  but  the  prayer  was 
thrilling,  and  the  whole  assembly  sobbed  and  moaned 
as  though  the  little  darling  in  the  coffin  belonged  by 
the  ties  of  blood  to  every  one  present.  The  tears 
ran  down  his  dark  face,  and  it  seemed  at  one  time  as 
though  a  common  frenzy  had  seized  the  assembly ; 
but  with  a  voice  and'  tone  of  submission  never  sur- 
passed, he  ended  his  prayer  in  these  words  :  "The  Lord 
gave  and  the  Lord  hath  taken  away,  and  blessed  be 
the  name  of  the  Lord." 

His  address  to  the  mother  was  touching  in  the  ex- 
treme. It  is  almost  useless  to  attempt  to  give  it. 


IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL.  361 

In  fact,  it  so  overpowered  me  that  most  of  the 
substance  was  lost.  I  remember  weeping,  as 
everybody  else  did,  and  thinking  if  he  had  had 
an  education  he  would  have  been  a  colored  White- 
field.  One  thought  struck  me  with  great  force, 
but  I  cannot  give  it  accurately  in  his  language.  He 
had  evidently  been  a  house-servant  all  his  life.  His 
manner  and  bearing  were  polished,  his  words  well 
pronounced,  and  his  language  more  like  that  of  a  man 
of  culture  than  of  a  negro.  He  said  "he  had  met 
with  parents  mourning,  like  the  mother  before  him,  for 
a  darling  child,  who  seemed  to  reproach  the  Father 
for  giving  them  the  little  one  for  so  brief  a  season 
and  then  taking  it  away,  leaving  the  heart  to  bleed 
for  a  long  time.  But,"  he  continued,  "if  this  were 
doing  the  little  one  a  wrong,  it  would  seem  incompre- 
hensible and  unjust,  but  you  must  remember  that  the 
road  to  heaven  lies  through  this  imperfect  world. 
Abraham,  Isaac,  Jacob,  Samuel,  Elijah,  Stephen, 
Paul,  and  Mary  and  Martha,  and,  above  all,  the  blessed 
Saviour,  were  once  mortals.  It  may  be  there  are 
beings  in  heaven  that  were  never  inhabitants  of  the 
earth.  But  I  cannot  yearn  for  their  companionship 
as  for  one  who  has  toiled,  and  suffered,  and  been 
tempted,  and  fallen  and  risen,  as  I  have  done.  The 
blessed  Saviour  would  not  be  so  dear  to  me,  though 
He  purchased  me  with  His  blood,  were  He  not  in  one 


362  IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 

sense  my  brother  as  well  as  Saviour.  Little  Fan- 
nie, then,  Avas  not  wronged,  but  blest,  in  being 
taken  away ;  and  instead  of  allowing  a  wickedly 
selfish  feeling  to  suggest  a  wish  that  she  had  never 
been  given,  you  should  thank  the  good  Lord  that  He 
saw  fit,  through  you,  to  add  one  more  to  the  company 
of  the  immortals  on  high.  O,  what  a  sweet  thought 
to  parents,  that  God  should  choose  them  to  such  a 
privilege  as  this.  And  when  I  see  parents  sorrowing 
that  another  little  lamb  has  been  added  to  their  flock, 
I  think  they  reason  like  heathen  or  infidels.  I  see, 
in  the  little  eyes  and  face  of  the  infant,  an  embryo 
angel. 

"And then,"  he  continued,  "my  dear  sister,  what  a 
picture  is  left  for  you  to  contemplate  as  long  as  you 
live  !.  You  have  no  picture  of  her  as  white  people 
have  of  their  children,  and  you  need  none.  You 
will  see  her  beautiful  form  and  sweet  face  a  hun- 
dred times  a  day ;  she  will  come  to  your  bed-side, 
however  dark  the  room,  and  you  will  see  her  in  your 
dreams ;  and  it  will  always  be  that  same  sweet  face  : 
it  will  never  grow  old.  Her  songs  will  ring  in  your 
ears  as  they  have  done  since  she  could  sing.  O,  I 
have  seen  pictures  in  many  a  parlor  which  cost  a 
great  sum  of  money,  but  no  gentleman  has  one  on 
canvas  so  beautiful  as  yours.  And  some  time,  it 
will  not  be  long,  you  will  meet  her  face  to  face,  where 


IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL.  363 

the  tie  of  love  is  never  severed.  Will  you  murmur  ? 
Can  you  complain,  when  God  has  been  so  good? 
Think  of  the  bliss  of  ten  thousand  kisses ;  of  the 
thousand  times  you  have  pressed  her  to  your  heart ; 
of  your  ecstatic  seasons  in  listening  to  her  prattling 
and  songs  !  And  thank  the  Lord  for  all  His  unde- 
served mercies,  like  a  Christian  woman." 

The  weeks  passed  slowly  away.  The  poor 
mother  was  as  punctual  to  her  duties  as  before 
her  affliction,  but  she  sung  no  hymns.  Often  she 
might  be  seen  looking  up  at  the  sky,  for  ten  or  fifteen 
minutes,  perfectly  unconscious  of  surrounding  per- 
sons .or  things,  as  if  expecting  to  see  the  darling 
peering  out  from  behind  a  fleecy  cloud.  But  I  must 
write  of  something  else,  now,  as  my  chapter  is  grow- 
ing lengthy. 

My  physician  friend  had  nearly  recovered,  and  was 
about  ready  to  go  to  his  work  in  the  hospital,  and  I 
to  return  North.  The  last  week  he  spent  nearly 
every  evening  in  my  room.  While  he  gained  in 
health  and  strength,  his  mind  seemed  much  disturbed. 
On  inquiring  the  cause,  he  replied  : 

"I  have  only  been  waiting  for  something  to  break 
the  ice,  and  tell  you  my  trouble.  I  am  thoroughly 
ashamed  of  my  weakness,  but  I  am  madly  in  lovo 
with  Kitty,  and  what  is  a  poor  fellow  to  do?" 

"  You  hava  come  to  a  poor  adviser  in  such  a  case  ; 


364  I&  CAMP  AXD   HOSPITAL. 

but  as  my  head  is  cool,  and  you  confess  yours  is  not, 
if  you  will  state  your  case,  I  will  do  the  best  I  can 
for  you.  Then  you  are  in  love  with  Kitty?  " 

"  That  is  the  case,  exactly." 

"Well,  I  neither  wonder  at  it,  nor  blame  you. 
She  certainly  is  not  only  one  of  the  most  beautiful, 
but  also  one  of  the  most  lovely  girls  I  ever  saw. 
Does  Kitty  know  of  your  love,  and  reciprocate  it." 

"Why,  man,  of  course  she  knows  I  love  her,  and 
I  know  she  loves  me." 

"  Have  you  had  any  private  interviews  with  her  ?  " 

"  No ;  I  dare  not  trust  myself  alone  with  her,  lest 
I  should  make  a  promise  to  marry  her." 

"  Well,  if  you  love  the  girl,  and  you  are  certain 
she  loves  you,  why  not  marry  her  ?  " 

"Were  I  a  boy  of  yours,  would  you  consent  to 
my  marrying  a  quadroon,  even  if  it  were  Kitty 
herself?" 

"I  confess  to  not  having  lost  my  prejudice  against 
the  blood." 

"  You  would  not  feel  proud  to  take  Kitty's  children 
on  your  knee,  while  they  called  you  Grand-pa?" 

"  The  picture  is  not  pleasant  to  contemplate." 

"  But  is  she  not  beautiful  enough  for  a  queen  ?  " 

"  Most  assuredly." 

"Has  she  not  the  sweetest  voice  you  ever  heard?" 

"It  probably  has  not  the  sa*ne  charm  for  me  as 


Z/V   CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL.  365 

you,  yet  her  voice  is  so  rich,  mellow,  and  sweet, 
that  once  heard,  it  can  never  be  forgotten." 

"Do  you  not  notice  that  the  mistress  treats  her 
almost  as  one  of  her  children?" 

"Yes." 

"And  the  daughter  welcomes  Kitty  to  her  room 
every  afternoon,  and  they  sit  and  sew  together  like 
two  sisters.  And  now,  what  does  she  lack  that  I 
want  in  a  wife?" 

"An  education." 

"A  few  years,  with  my  money,  will  supply  her 
with  that.  By  the  time  I  am  established  in  busi- 
ness, she  can  have  an  education.  What  else  does 
she  lack?" 

"Before  I  answer  that  question,  will  you  allow  me 
to  speak  to  her  mother?  You  would,  of  course,  ask 
the  mother's  consent,  even  if  she  is  a  slave,  before 
you  would  marry  her  child." 

"That  is  so.     Will  you  speak  to  her?" 

I  did  not  have  to  wait  over  twenty  hours..  The 
next  afternoon,  Auntie  was  at  her  work,  and  alone 
as  usual,  Kitty  being  with  Miss*  Eliza,  and  Meddie 
being  at  play  in  the  yard. 

"Auntie,  I  have  come  in  to  have  a  little  talk  with 
you  about  the  young  Doctor." 

"Why,  laws,  indeed  !    What  am  the  trouble  now? 


366  IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 

You  seem  like  father  and  son.     What  has  happen  to 
the  young  Doctor?" 

"O,  nothing  very  strange.  He  has  just  recov- 
ered from  one  sickness,  and  now  he  is  taken  bad 
with  another." 

"Why,  bless  your  heart,  he  ate  his  dinner  well  as 
ever." 

"But,  Auntie,  he  is  in  love." 

"Who  am  he  in  love  with?" 

"Your  Kitty." 

"O,  I  knows  all  about  that  these  three  weeks.  I 
knows  when  it  corned  on.  I  has  got  eyes;  but 
Kitty  has  been  kep  out  of  the  way  much  as  pos- 
sible." 

"Well,  Auntie,  he  really  talks  about  proposing  to 
marry  her." 

"O,  laws,  the  honey  must  not  have  sich  a  thought. 
Marry  my  Kitty  !  Never !  He  could  not  be  earn- 
est." 

"He  certainly  is,  and  is  almost  beside  himself." 

"Well  now,  if  he  am  love-sick  he  ought  to  know 
what  am  the  proper^nedicine .  But  I  reckons  he  knows 
more  about  the  fevers,  rash,  and  sich-like,  than  love. 
But  I  knows  what  to  do  when  folks  am  in  love : 
sarb  them  as  you  do  them  what  have  the  measles. 
You  can  do  nigh  about  jes  nuffin'  at  all.  The  best 
med'cine  for  love  am  change  of  air.  Tell  the  Doctor 


IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL.  367 

old  Auntie  say  this  am  a  bad  climate  for  him.  He 
best  go  Xorth  next  train." 

"O,  Auntie,  it  will  not  do  to  ridicule  him.  He  is 
as  fine  a  boy  as  I  ever  met,  and,  to  all  appearance, 
the  soul  of  honor.  If  he  should  marry  Kitty,  he 
would  do  it  with  the  purest  of  motives." 

"Indeed,  indeed,  the  Doctor  am  a  gen'leman  and 
a  Christian,  I's  no  doubt ;  but  he  must  not  marry  my 
Kitty.  So  long  as  she  am  the  sweet  rose,  he  would 
never  think  of  her  blood ;  but  folks  grows  old,  and 
everybody  gets  cross  at  times,  and  forgets  all  the 
sweet  words  they  use  in  courtin'  days,  and  then  they 
goes  spyin'  'round  and  huntiu'  up  all  the  weak  p'ints 
in  each  other,  and  makes  'em  into  a  pile,  and  say, 
*  See  there!  how  bad  you  am!'  And  if  they  cannot 
find  much  in  each  other  that  am  bad,  they  spies  out 
the  rubbish  of  their  relations,  and  say,  'Look  at  tliatl 
See  who  you  am!'  Why,  if  Kitty  were  jes'  an  an- 
gel,— and  the  honey  am  jes'  as  near  one  as  I  want  her 
to  be  in  this  selfish  world, —  she  could  not  be  the  wife 
of  this  Doctor,  and  live  up  North  one  year,  but  some 
one  would  jes'  'cuse  her  that  she  am  a  nigger.  If  he 
would  always  be  kind  to  her,  his  mother  would  not. 
I  tells  you,  nuffin'  cuts  a  woman  more  than  seein'  her 
son  marry  in  poorer  blood  than  his.  She  care  not 
how  high  he  go,  but  it  cut  her  deep  if  he  go  down 
to  marry." 


368 


Itf  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 


"Shall  I  tell  the  Doctor  you  cannot  consent  to  his 
marrying  Kitty?" 

"Indeed  you  may.  I  could  not  wrong  Kitty  so, 
nor  wrong  him  so." 

"But  how  will  this  affect  Kitty?  Of  course  she 
knows  he  loves  her?" 

"O,  that  is  nuffin' !  She  knows  that  he  loves  her, 
but  she  specks  it  am  like  the  love  of  all  white  folks 
she  see  here.  It  have  not  struck  in  deep  ;  I  can  cure 
her.  But  I  tell  you  this,  the  Doctor  must  jes'  le've, 
or  Kitty  must.  Take  one  coal  from  the  other,  and 
they  will  both  go  out ;  but  while  they  am  together, 
they  will  burn." 

I  carried  my  report  to  my  suffering  young  friend, 
repeating  the  substance  of  the  interview,  but  it  did 
him  no  good.  At  times,  he  declared  he  would  take 
her,  if  it  cost  him  his  inheritance ;  at  others,  he 
would  say  it  might  be  only  a  temporary  infatuation. 
"In  conclusion,"  said  he,  "what  is  your  advice?" 

"I  will  advise  you  as  I  would  my  boy  :  make  her 
a  substantial  present,  tell  her  you  hope  to  see  her 
again  some  time,  and  leave  for  home,  in  the  morn- 
ing. Marriage,  next  to  birth,  is  the  most  important 
event  in  life,  and  we  ought  not  to  rush  into  it  with 
blood  at  fever-heat.  In  choosing  a  profession,  you 
consulted  your  friends,  those  whom  you  knew  had 
the  deepest  and  most  abiding  interest  in  you.  Were 


IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL.  369 

your  studies  completed,  and  you  were  looking  for  a 
permanent  field  of  labor,  you  would  most  likely  ask, 
if  you  did  not  follow,  the  advice  of  friends.  At  any 
rate,  you  are  so  young,  you  can  afford  to  take  time 
for  consideration.  And,  furthermore,  you  must  re- 
member that  the  step  you  propose  to  take  is  a  very 
extraordinary  one.  Fifty  years  hence,  it  may  be 
very  common;  but,  all  things  considered,  I  beg  of 
you  to  wait.  Go  home  in  the  morning.  I  shall  re- 
main awhile  longer,  and  will  inform  you,  by  letter, 
whether  she  lays  your  leaving  to  heart." 

"I  will  follow  your  counsel.  I  will  leave  in  the 
morning,  carrying  clean  hands  and  a  pure  heart  I 
have  not  trifled  with  her.  Whatever  be  her  fate,  I 
have  done  her  no  wrong,  unless  it  be  wrong  to  have 
loved  her  almost  to  distraction." 

In  the  morning,  he  was  off  for  Ohio.  Before  he 
left,  Auntie  and  Meddie  received  substantial  pres- 
ents, and  Kitty  the  promise  of  a  package  of  school- 
books,  as  soon  as  he  should  reach  Louisville;  for 
she  could  read  quite  well.  The  books  came,  to  my 
care,  in  a  few  days,  and  Miss  Eliza  took  it  upon  her- 
self to  be  Kitty's  instructress  ;  perhaps  as  ranch  for 
her  own  benefit  as  for  that  of  her  pupil. 

The  foregoing  incident  is  the  foundation  of  the 
following  song : 
24 


370  IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 


SWEET  KITTY  MANEE,  THE  QUADROON. 

[By  permission  of  GEO.  D.  RUSSELL  &  Co.,  126  Tremont  Street, 
Boston,  who  publish  it  in  sheet  music,  with  piano  accompani- 
ment. Words  and  Music  by  E.  W.  LOCKE.] 

THE  moss-rose  is  leaving,  the  peach  is  abloom, 

The  daisy  is  peeping  so  sly, 
The  spider  has  got  his  first  web  in  .the  loom, 

And  stretched  it  athwart  for  the  fly ; 
The  blue-bird  is  telling  his  love  to  his  dear, 

They'll  have  them  a  nest  in  this  tree, 
And  everything's  telling  that  spring-time  is  here, 

But  O,  it  is  winter  for  me  ! 

But  O,  it  is  winter  for  me  ! 

My  heart's  like  the  wild-surging  sea ; 

I  dare  not  caress,  her  lips  may  not  press, 

But,  darling,  I  love  you,  sweet  Kitty  Manee  ! 

Her  face  like  the  sunshine,  no  lily  so  fair, 

And  sweet  as  the  rose  from  the  bud ; 
That  voice  like  a  flute — but  those  waves  in  the  hair, 

They  tell  of  the  taint  in  her  blood ; 
I  must  not,  I  will  not, — but  list  to  her  song  ! 

Cease,  birdlings,  till  Kitty  is  done  ! 
My  heart,  fiercely  beating,  shall  do  her  no  wrong 

My  mother*!!  not  blush  for  her  son  ! 


IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 

But  O,  it  is  maddening  to  me  ! 

My  heart's  like  the  wild-surging  sea ; 

I  dare  not  caress,  her  lips  may  not  press, 

But,  darling,  I  love  you,  sweet  Kitty  Manee  ! 

She's  under  my  window,  there's  love  in  her  eye, 

I  reel  as  if  drunken  with  wine  ; 
I'd  leap  to  her  feet,  were  I  up  in  the  sky, 

Could  I  but  caress  her  as  mine  ; 
But  somebody's  darling  my  Kitty  will  be, 

Some  lover  will  win  her  too  soon ; 
Come,  gather  the  flower  that  blooms  not  for  me, 

Farewell  to  my  gentle  quadroon  ! 

But  O,  it  is  maddening  for  me  ! 

My  heart's  like  the  wild-surging  sea ; 

I  dare  not  caress,  her  lips  may  not  press, 

But,  darling,  I  love  you,  sweet  Kitty  Manee. 


372        And  so  will  the  boys  in  blue. 

E.   W.  Locke. 


1.  The  bn-  gle  call  rings  loud  and  clear.  And  loud  the  rolling  drum:  Our 

2.  Thro'  gloomy  years  of  bloody  strife,  We've  battled  side  by  side;  "With 


comrades  haste  to  seek  their  posts.  The  time  for  work  has   come ;    The 
brave,  true  hearts  and  siuewy  arms  We've  stemm'd  each  fiery  tide.    E  - 


beacon  fires  burn  brizht  again.  They  flash  on  ev'-ry        hill.          From 
ternal     Justice  nerv'd  us  then,  And  gave  the  conqulring  will,        With 

sea     to       sea    the    shout  goes  up,  We  march  to   vicfry      still, 
hearts    a  -  flame,  and    God    our  trust,  We  strike  for  Justice    still. 

CHORDS. 

,    N     I      N  .  I  _  L      k .    i      i     i      N     I      S     N     I v      |    N     S 


Hurrah !  hurrah !  for  our    noble  cause !  Hurrah !  for  our  leaders  true !  We '  1 1 

_*  r  r  f  f -T- ^J^LJ-  *  ^ 
^=T£-r"  r  "  I — Un=— L- 


pE^=^^flJ^-£l^z^ffg^.  ^ 

-5-g-Fy-*-*-"-?  h-=b-p—  — >-Fh^~ 


staud  by  the  men  who  stood  by  the  flag,  And  so  will  the  boys  in  blue.  Au 


so    will  we    all,  and  so    will  we   all,  Our  pledge  we  now  renew;   We'll 
m     •  '-^  »     ^T,^ 


-=g---       <  I     t"---'-L4-*'---' 


V 


8. 

Our  motto,  equal  rights  to  all  ; 

The  ballot  shall  be  free  ; 
Who  stakes  his  life  to  save  the  flag, 

May  vote  with  you  and  me  ! 
We'll  ask  him  not  his  birth  or  kin, 

Or  prate  about  his  hue, 
But  ev'ry  man  unstained  with  crime 

May  vote  with  boys  in  blue. 

CHO. 

4. 
We'll  keep  the  nation's  sacred  pledge, 

Pay  ev'ry  dime  we  owe  ; 
Each  loyal  arm  will  gladly  strike 

Each  day  an  extra  blow. 
Repudiate  —  we  scorn  the  word, 

And  those  who  use  it  too, 
We  are  not  knaves  or  bankrupts  yet, 

Nor  are  the  boys  in  blue. 

CHO.  • 

5. 
Haste,  loyal  men,  fill  up  your  ranks, 

Bring  ev'ry  soldier  out  ; 
This  struggle  ought  to  be  our  last, 

And  give  the  final  rout. 
But  lo,  'they  come  !  a  sea  of  men  ! 

Impatient  for  the  fray, 
They  come  !  they  come  !  in  throngs  so  vast, 

Our  work  shall  seem  but  play. 

Cno. 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

MASS-MEETING   IN   SPEINGFIELD,    ILLINOIS. 

THE  reader  may  wonder  what  connection  a  mass- 
meeting  in  Illinois,  before  the  war,  has  with  Camp 
and  Hospital.  In  answer,  I  reply:  That  meeting 
was  the  first  notable  event  in  that  historical  series 
with  which  Mr.  Lincoln  was  connected,  and  ending 
in  his  tragic  death.  At  that  meeting,  and  every 
subsequent  one,  till  war  came  upon  us,  the  assem- 
bled people  saw  that  a  crisis  was  approaching,  and 
they  counselled  together  as  to  methods,  and  means 
for  the  occasion. 

The  Presidential  mass-meetings  before  an  elec- 
tion, as  all  know,  are  often  of  huge  proportions. 
The  West,  above  all  other  sections  of  the  country, 
gets  them  up  on  the  grandest  scale.  The  Republi- 
can one,  at  Springfield,  August,  1860,  was  indeed 
a  mass-meeting — a  mass  of  humanity  so  packing 
the  town,  that  locomotion  was  almost  impossible. 
It  seemed  as  though  all  the  people  had  come  to  see 
the  man  who  possibly  might  become  President ;  not 
(374) 


7iV  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL.  375 

that  Mr.  Lincoln  had  a  very  strong  hold  on  the  affec- 
tions of  the  people  at  that  time,  for  outside  of  San- 
gamon  County,  he  was  little  known  previously  to 
taking  the  stump  with  Douglas. 

This  was  the  first  time  the  West  had  ever  been 
honored  with  a  candidate  for  the  Presidency,  and 
now  it  has  two.  It  had  never  even  had  a  Vice-Pres- 
ident.  It  was  fitting  that  the  Eepublicans  should 
have  selected  a  Western  man.  The  friends  of  Uni- 
versal Liberty  in  the  East  were  well  organized,  and 
knew  their  strength ;  but  giving  the  West  the  nom- 
ination, the  party  gained  numbers  and  enthusiasm. 
It  was  eminently  judicious,  for  another  reason ;  the 
Democrats  had  taken  their  candidate  from  that  sec- 
tion, and  why  should  not  the  ^Republicans  do  as 
much  ? 

The  people  had  been  stirred,  of  late,  as  never  be- 
fore. The  mass  of  Eepublicans  had  not  thought  of 
Emancipation  as  a  possibility.  "Thuo  far,  and  no 
farther,"  was  the  watchword  of  the  young  party. 
Men  who  loathed  the  negro,,  and  cared  little  for  his 
condition  of  servitude,  began  to  see  that  slavery  was 
a  curse,  not  only  to  the  South,- but  the  whole  coun- 
try, and  they  were  ready  to  join  a  party  which 
would  stipulate  to  guarantee  the  Southerner  his 
right  to  his  slaves,  but  was  determined  that  the  can- 
cer should  extend  its  claws  into  no  new  territory. 


376  IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 

Many  a  Western  man,  who  was  willing  to  be  called 
a  Republican,  hated  a  new  England  radical.  Nom- 
inating Mr.  Lincoln  was  a  concession  to  that  part  of 
the  West  opposed  to  slavery  on  the  one  hand,  and 
New  England  radicalism  on  the  other.  Some  of 
the  managers  of  political  meetings,  in  that  section, 
were  as  careful  in  selecting  speakers  for  the  occasion 
as  a  soldier  in  picking  up  scattered  muskets  from  a 
field  the  morning  after  a  battle.  Trumbull  was  one 
of  the  "big  guns"  of  the  campaign  in  1860.  He 
had  one  speech,  which,  I  doubt  not,  he  made  fifty 
times.  I  heard  it  no  less  than  ten,  and  could  give 
it  almost  verbatim,  were  it  worth  repeating.  There 
was  little  in  it  about  the  injustice  of  slavery  to  the 
negro.  He  was  left  out  of  the  question.  It  was 
merely  a  matter  of  policy,  as  to  material  interests, 
whether  slavery  should  be  restricted  or  not.  His 
speech  was  better  suited  to  Springfield,  and  south  of 
it,  than  further  north.  His  meetings  were  large, 
and  very  enthusiastic.  In  some  of  them,  as  the  one 
at  Rock  Island,  his  friends  illustrated  his  speech  by 
transparencies.  Douglas  and  his  doctrines  were 
the  chief  points  of  attack.  If  the  Little  Giant  was 
supposed  to  have  done  anything  very  silly,  when  this 
point  was  approached,  a  transparency  of  a  mulo 
would  go  up  among  the  crowd,  and  then  the  people 
would  hurrah.  If  he  was  supposed  to  have  done 


IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL.  377 

anything  wicked,  a  transparency  of  the  devil  would 
go  up.  One  would  have  thought  that  Douglas  was 
the  man,  above  all  others,  that  the  country  need  to 
fear;  but  Truinbull  had  not  learned  to  plead  the 
cause  of  the  slave,  and  I  have  .never  heard  that  he 
ever  learned  to  do  it. 

Seventy  thousand  strangers  are  in  Springfield. 
Some  three  thousand  have  come  from  Chicago  in  a 
special  train.  Farmers  have  come  fifty  miles  in  two- 
horse  farm-wagons,  bringing  wife,  sons,  and  daugh- 
ters, and  not  only  these,  but  camp-kettles,  coffee-pots 
and  provisions,  to  camp  out  coming  and  returning. 
Towns  and  cities  come  by  delegations.  Every 
road  leading  to  the  city  is  crowded  for  twenty  miles 
with  vehicles.  The  weather  is  fine,  a  little  over- 
warm.  Girls  can  dress  in  white,  and  bare  their  arms 
and  neck  without  danger ;  the  women  can  bring  their 
children.  Everything  that  was  ever  done  at  any 
other  mass-meeting  is  done  here.  Locomotive-build- 
ers are  making  a  boiler.  Blacksmiths  are  heating 
and  hammering  their  irons,  the  iron-founders  are 
moulding  their  patterns  ;  the  rail-splitters  are  show- 
ing the  people  how  Uncle  Abe  used  to  split  rails ; 
every  other  town  has  its  wagon-load  of  thirty-one 
girls  in  white  to  represent  the  States ;  bands  of 
music,  numerous  almost  as  those  of  McClellan  on 
Arlington  Heights  in '62,  are  playing;  old  men  of 


378  AV  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 

the  war  of  '12,  with  their  old  wives,  their  children, 
grandchildren,  and  great  grandchildren,  are  here; 
making  a  procession  of  human  beings,  horses  and 
carriages,  not  less  than  ten  miles  in  length.  And  yet 
the  procession  might  have  left  the  town  and  the  people 
would  scarcely  be  missed. 

There  is  an  immense  wigwam,  with  galleries  like 
a  theatre,  but  there  are  people  enough  not  in  the 
procession  to  fill  a  dozen  like  it.  Half  an  hour  is 
long  enough  to  witness  the  moving  panorama  of  men 
and  women,  horses,  carriages,  representatives  of 
trades,  mottoes,  and  burlesques,  and  listen  to  the 
bands. 

Thinking  it  possible  to  get  up  something  that 
would  interest  the  waiting  crowd,  speaking  to  a  sup- 
posed friend  across  the  street,  in  a  tone  loud  enough 
to  receive  some  attention,  I  called  out,  "  Harry  I 
Harry  !  let's  go  to  the  Fair  Grounds  ;  we  have  seen 
all  there  is  here.  Corwin  of  Ohio  is  going  to  make 
a  speech  there."  Moving  on  to  the  next  square ,  I  re- 
peat the  ruse.  In  fifteen  minutes  the  current  has 
been  started.  Hundreds,  perhaps  a  thousand,  have 
started  for  the  Fair  Grounds.  "What's  up  now?" 
says  one.  "  Going  to  hear  Tom  Corwin  speak."  "I 
thought  he  was  dead  long  ago,"  said  another.  "  Well, 
he  was  an  old  Henry  Clay  Whig,  and  I  wonder  if  he 
has  become  a  Republican?  I  guess  Henry  himself 


IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 


379 


would  be  a  Republican  if  he  were  alive.  Most  of 
the  Northern  Whigs,  but  Fillmore  and  Everett,  have 
come  over."  Following  the  stream  of  country  folk,  I 
am  soon  on  the  ground,  which  is  scarcely  a  mile  out 
of  the  city. 

But  where  is  Corwin?  Though  not  carrying  him  in 
my  pocket,  or  as  Artemus  Ward  did  his  wax  figures,  I 
have  him  near  at  hand,  notwithstanding.  It  requires  a 
little  delicate  manipulation  to  put  the  speaker  on  the 
stand  in  a  proper  manner.  Looking  over  the  crowd,  and 
fixing  my  eye  on  a  man  whose  chest  is  broad  enough 
for  a  glass-blower,  I  say,  "Friend,  call  out  Corwin, 
he  is  in  the  crowd,  let  us  have  a  speech  from  him"." 
"Oil  aint  used  to  hollerin'  in  meetin'.  You  try  it, 
and  if  you  can't  start  out  the  tiger,  I  will  yell  a  little." 
Calling  out,  "  Corwin  !  Corwin  !  "  as  loudly  as  pos- 
sible, my  voice  sounded  small,  and  I  failed  to  raise 
the  orator.  "Now,  my  friend,  sound  your  bugle 
once  or  twice ;"  and  sound  he  does.  A  stage-driver 
could  scarcely  make  his  trumpet  heard  further  than 
this  man  does  his  voice.  The  crowd  become  impa- 
tient, wondering  why  the  Buckeye  orator  does  not 
make  his  appearance,  if  present.  Soon  a  small  man^ 
of  pleasant  countenance,  fifty-five  years  of  age,  steps 
on  the  platform ,  and  the  audience  is  all  attention  : 

"  Ladies  and  gentlemen,  my  name  is  Corwin  ;  and 
I  am  told  that  this  call  for  a  speech  is  to  me."     A 


380  IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 

few  are  remarking  on  his  young  appearance.  They 
thought  he  was  certainly  a  much  older  man.  One 
thought  probably  it  was  Tom  Corwin's  son,  but  let  us 
hear  his  speech.  "If  I  am  the  individual  called  for, 
allow  me  to  say  that  as  you  find  me  unprepared,  I  might 
with  propriety  decline  the  honor,  and  perhaps  save 
myself  the  disagreeable  reflection  of  having  made 
a  poor  speech.  Yet  such  is  the  occasion,  such  are 
the  times,  and  such  are  the  sentiments  dwelling  in 
all  our  hearts  as  one,  I  will  do  myself  the  pleasure 
of  speaking  to  this  intelligent  and  patriotic  assembly 
for  a  few  minutes,  getting  compensation  for  my  em- 
barassment  by  the  privilege  of  looking  into  your 
honest  faces. 

"Fellow-Citizens :  We  are  approaching  one  of 
those  crises  through  which  a  great  people  must 
sometimes  pass.  No  nation,  of  any  character, 
magnitude,  or  age,  ever  escaped  them.  Our  grand- 
fathers passed  one  in  their  day,  we  must  meet  one 
in  ours.  In  fact,  it  is  upon  us.  If  we,  as  a  great 
people,  are  superior  to  the  calamities  that  threaten 
us ;  to  the  internal  fires  that  seem  ready  to  consume 
us ;  and  if  we  forget  not  the  principles  of  eternal 
right  and  justice  that  God  has  revealed  to  us,  all 
will  be  well.  I  have  not  the  eye  to  discern  what  is 
before  us,  but  have  the  heart  to  feel  that  God  is 
about  to  try  this  people  as  by  fire.  "We  are  to  be 


IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL.  381 

placed  in  His  furnace.  I  hope  and  trust  we  may 
come  out  refined,  and  not  be  cast  away  as  worthless 
dross.  Though  the  future  is  portentous,  I  am  yet 
hopeful ;  hopeful,  because  this  new  party  to  which 
we  have  pledged  our  unswerving  fidelity,  is  to  suc- 
ceed in  the  present  political,  contest.  This  out- 
pouring of  the  people,  this  emptying  the  prairie 
homes  for  a  day  to  our  common  country,  is  glorious 
augury  for  victory  at  the  polls.  We  must  succeed  : 
I  feel  it ;  you  feel  it.  It  almost  seems  to  us  an 
event  accomplished.  I  am  hopeful,  also,  because 
we  are  to  have  a  man  of  the  people, — honest  Abra- 
ham Lincoln,  — for  President.  Hurrah  for  Abraham 
Lincoln!  Hurrah!  Hurrah!  Hurrah!  A  man,  a 
true  man,  a  tall  man,  if  you  please,  but  every  sur- 
plus inch  is  as  full  of  integrity  and  patriotism  as  his 
noble  heart.  Hurrah  for  the  tall  and  true  !  Hur- 
rah! Hurrah!  Hurrah!  A  -man  who  will  know 
no  North,  no  South,  no  East,  no  West;  a  man  edu- 
cated in  the  forest,  and  on  the  flat-boat,  and  familiar 
with  the  peoples  of  the  various  genealogies  and 
climes  of  this  vast  country. 

"If  any  man  can  pacify  the  exasperated  South, 
and  at  the  same  time  satisfy  the  Northern  heart 
that  is  true  to  equal  rights ;  in  other  words,  if  any 
man  can  restore  harmony  to  this  agitated  country, 
Abraham  Lincoln  is  the  man.  If  there  must  be 


382  IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 

war,  which  Heaven  forbid,  Abraham  Lincoln,  though 
his  picture  does  not  resemble  that  of  Napoleon,  of 
Caesar,  or  of  Alexander,  will  be  found,  like  Wash- 
ington, equal  to  the  occasion. 

"Fellow-Citizens  :  The  future  is  threatening;  but 
let  us,  like  men,  prepare  for  the  trial.  Prepare  for 
the  polls.  If  you  have  an  absent  son  who  is  a 
voter,  be  he  in  college,  on  the  ocean,  or  in  Califor- 
nia, see  that  he  shall  be  at  home  in  November.  If 
you  have  a  neighbor,  who  is  almost  ready,  see  that 
he  is  quite  ready  to  vote  with  you  in  November.  If 
money  is  wanted,  and,  mark  me,  it  will  be,  it  must 
be  had ;  for  a  work  like  this  cannot  be  done  without 
money.  I  say,  if  money  is  wanted,  and  there  is 
none  in  the  trunk,  or  secretary,  sell  a  horse,  a  pair 
of  steers,  or  all  the  fattest  swine  in  the  herd,  and 
contribute  your  share.  Do  not  be  afraid  of  giving 
too  much.  This  is  not  like  a  contribution  you  have 
to  meet  every  Sabbath ;  nor  like  your  annual  taxes. 
This  comes  but  once  in  four  years ;  in  fact,  my 
friends,  this  will  be  the  first  time  in  all  your  lives 
you  will  have  ever  been  called  upon  to  furnish 
money  for  a  cause,  the  success  or  failure  of  which 
involves  the  existence  of  our  country.  The  men 
who  saw  times  like  the  present  are  in  their  graves  ; 
and  shall  we  prove  ourselves  their  unworthy  chil- 
dren by  withholding  our  means? 


7iV  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL.  383 

"Fellow-citizens,  there  is  work  to  be  done ;  shall 
we  do  it?  There  is  money  to  be  given;  shall  we 
give  it?  Let  me  have  one  united  response,  We  will." 
"  We  will!  We  will!"  shouted  the  crowd.  "Xow 
three  cheers  for  the  Republican  party  !  "  *  Hurrah  ! 
Hurrah  !  Hurrah  !  "  "Now  three  cheers  for  Lincoln 
and  EQimlin  I  "  "Hurrah!  Hurrah!  Hurrah f" 

"  But,  Fellow-citizens,  there  are  evils  in  our  midst 
to  which  our  political  troubles  are  as  a  fierce  and  de- 
structive shower  to  a  protracted,  wide-spread,  and 
devastating  storm.  I  do  not  refer,  as  some  would 
conjecture,  to  the  influx  of  foreigners  who  are  swarm- 
ing over  and  occupying  the  most  productive  and 
beautiful  portions  of  our  country.  I  welcome  the 
hard-toiling,  warm-blooded,  and  impulsive  Irishman, 
the  thrifty,  peaceable,  liberty-loving  German,  the 
cunning-handed  Englishman,  the  Scotchman  and  the 
Scandinavian,  and  there  is  room  enough  yet  for  all 
the  Mongolian  race  who  may  wish  to  become  an  in- 
tegral part  of  our  Republic.  I  have  no  fear  that 
Homanism  is  to  overpower  and  swallow  up  all  other 
religions  of  this  tolerant  America;  The  Anti-Cath- 
olic foreigners  increase  among  us  nearly  as  fast  as 
the  Romanists ;  add  to  this  the  natural  increase  of 
Protestantism ;  then  we  must  still  add  another  ele- 
ment, often  forgotten.  There  are  four  millions  of 
negroes  (few  of  whom  will  ever  become  Catholics, 


384  I*'  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 

for  Ilomanism  is  not  adapted  to  them  as  to  the  semi- 
civilized  Indians)  who  are  to  be  incorporated  into  our 
body  politic.  Do  you  ask  what  is  the  danger  in  our 
midst  —  danger  greater  than  our  political  troubles? 
Need  I  answer  ?  Who,  that  has  an  eye,  cannot  see  it  ? 
Who,  that  has  sat  at  the  feet  of  the  Great  Teacher  but 
for  one  lesson,  does  not  feel  it?  The  eternal  and  im- 
mutable principles  of  right  are  constantly  violated  by 
the  masses  of  our  people.  Bad  men  stand  a  better 
chance  than  good  ones  to  become  rulers.  Many  men 
in  high  positions  are  easily  bought  with  money. 
Love  of  money  and  show,  is  an  evil  which  has  per- 
meated all  classes  but  the  very  lowest.  Dives  is  the 
leading  man  in  the  Senate,  the  city,  the  social  circle, 
and  the  Church.  Men  who  fail  in  attempting  to 
manage  their  own  business,  are  placed  in  charge  of 
the  business  and  finances  of  the  public.  Hence  de- 
falcations, a  polite  term  for  thefts,  are  common — in 
fact,  every-day  occurrences.  Many  of  our  public 
men  are  but  genteel  paupers,  brothers  of  the  men 
who  turn  the  crank  of  the  organ  at  the  street-corners. 
Public  servants  are  seldom  selected  for  their  intrinsic 
worth,  but  obtain  the  coveted  places  by  craft,  per- 
sistent and  wearying  importunities,  and  unblushing 
impudence.  Drunkenness  stalks  at  mid-day  in  every 
street,  and  among  all  classes,  and  is  seldom  rebuked, 
even  from  the  pulpit.  Men  and  women  build 


IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 


3S5 


churches  for  show,  and  a  place  of  resort  to  meet  per- 
sons of  their  caste,  and  show  their  fine  clothes,  and 
carnages ;  the  mass  of  our  young  men  are  becoming 
effeminate,  shunning  hardy  occupations  which  de- 
velop brain  and  muscle,  eschewing  marriage,  one 
of  the  dearest  boons  ever  vouchsafed  to  mortals ; 
women  teach  their  daughters  to  be  genteel,  while  to 
be  ignorant  of  all  useful  knowledge  is  a  matter  for 
boasting.  Shame  on  our  American  people  I  Laugh 
at  the  Chinese  women  for  being  proud  of  their 
dwarfed  feet  1  Our  sisters  and  daughters  are  proud 
of  their,  dwarfed  capacities.  Fellow-Citizens,  there 
are  dangers  within  as  well  as  dangers  without. 
The  latter  are  evanescent,  while  the  former  are 
abiding.  We  have  forsaken  God,  and  must  be  pun- 
ished sooner  or  later.  "We  forget  God  when  we  en- 
slave the  negro.  We  forget  God  when  we  refuse  to 
give  him  freedom.  We  forget  God  when  we  honor 
bad  men.  We  forget  God  when  we  are  too  craven 
to  stand  up  and  vindicate  the  right,  and  attempt  to 
put  down  the  wrong ;  and  the  Lord  has  said,  'Ven- 
geance is  mine,  and  I  will  repay.'  God  help  us  to 
do  our  duty." 

I  cannot  pretend  to  perfect  accuracy  in  putting 

this  speech  on  paper,  after  a  lapse  of  ten  years.     I 

have  run  it  over  a  hundred  times  in  my  mind  since, 

but  without  doubt  my  report  is  more  or  less  imper- 

25 


386 


CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 


feet  ;  still  the  main  ideas  are  preserved.  Howevei 
it  may  appear  to  the  reader,  as  it  was  rendered  b\ 
the  speaker,  every  word  coming  from  a  heart  that 
charged  it  with  magnetism,  the  hearers  were  spell- 
bound. At  the  meeting,  speeches,  and  good  ones  too, 
were  made  by  Triimbull,  Lovejoy,  Wilson,  Ben  Pren- 
tice, and  others,  but  none  of  these  held  the  people 
like  Corwin's.  It  was  not  so  much  his  words  that 
affected  the  hearers,  as  his  manner  and  feelings.  He 
had  the  rare  gift  of  bringing  most  of  his  hearers  en 
rapport,  and  swaying  them  at  his  pleasure.  If  he 
saw  the  threatening  cloud,  so  did  they  ;  if  he  was 
hopeful,  and  saw  the  silver  lining,  they  saw  with  his 
eyes,  and  felt  with  his  heart.  If  he  saw  the  furnace, 
and  was  submissive  to  God's  chastisements,  they  too 
saw  it,  and  were  ready  to  suffer.  If  he  was  ready 
to  fight,  in  case  of  war,  so  were  they,  from  the  young- 
est to  the  oldest.  If  he  was  ready  to  give  more  time, 
and  all  that  he  had,  to  elect  Mr.  Lincoln,  so  were 
they. 

The  speech  was  ended,  and  Mr.  Corwin,  in  a  min- 
ute after,  would  have  been  surrounded  by  scores  of 
men,  to  offer  congratulations,  but  he  is  not  ready  for 
that.  "Fellow-citizens,"  said  he,  "I  will  introduce  a 
friend  who  makes  a  "business  of  writing  patriotic 
songs,  and  singing  them  on  occasions  like  the  pres- 
ent. While  the  singing  proceeds,  if  there  are  any 


IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 


3*7 


present  who  wish  copies  for  themselves  and  friends, 
I  will  supply  them." 

Before  presenting  the  reader  with  the  song  of  the 
occasion,  I  will  write  a  few  more  sentences  about  the 
orator. 

The  point  of  what  has  been  written  of  this  speech 
and  the  speaker,  lies  in  the  fact  that  the  crowd  had 
not  been  listening  to  Tom  Corwin,  of  Ohio,  but  a 
talented  medal-peddler  by  the  name  of  Corwiu,  from 
the  same  State.  I  knew  he  was  a  fine  speaker,  and 
a  true  man.  I  also  knew  that,  if  the  people  were 
told  his  occupation,  they  would  not  give  his  words 
half  the  weight  to  which  they  were  entitled.  Had 
they  used  any  judgment,  they  could  have  seen  that 
the  famous  orator  and  politician  must  have  been  a 
much  older  man.  But,  no  matter,  we  had  a  good 
speech,  though  a  peddler  made  it.  Yet,  after  it  was 
known  whom  they  had  been  listening  to,  an  old  fel- 
low, who  had  listened  with  both  ears  and  a  huge 
mouth,  suddenly  came  to  the  conclusion  that  the 
speech  was  not  worth  "shucks." 

I  cannot  leave  Mr.  Corwin  without  reporting  one 
of  his  adventures  in  the  city,  as  it  illustrates  the 
feeling  of  a  large  class  of  the  people  of  Springfield,  at 
that  time.  Not  one-half  of  the  citizens  of  that  city 
had  any  sympathy  with  the  principles  that  brought 
that  immense  assembly  together.  All  opened  their 


388  IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 

houses  to  entertain  the  people,  but  this  was  done  for 
money.  Mr.  Corwin  and  myself  had  entertainment 
at  a  small,  though  quite  select  hotel,  and,  after  sup- 
per, on  the  day  of  the  grand  meeting,  we  were 
seated  in  the  parlor,  with  three  young  men  and  as 
many  young  women.  Conversation  was  opened,  by 
one  of  the  latter,  in  this  style  : 

"Big  show  the  nigger-lovers  have  had.  I  reckon 
all  there  are  in  the  State  have  been  here  to-day.  I 
wonder  how  they  liked  the  looks  of  the  homely  old 
beast?" 

Another  damsel  chimes  in, —  "I  wish  every  Re- 
publican was  obliged  to  marry  a  wench,  or  no  one." 

Friend  Corwin  was  mad  to  his  very  toes,  and, 
quickly  as  a  flash,  replied, — "I  should  prefer  a  wench 
to  most  of  the  white  women  of  this  town." 

Every  man  and  woman  in  the  room  rose  to  the 
feet  instantly.  One  of  the  men  sprung  like  a  tiger 
at  my  friend,  and  aimed  a  blow  at  him,  which  was 
skilfully  parried.  Springing  between  them,  I  urged 
the  young  man  not  to  harm  a  man  old  enough  to  be 
his  father,  while  Mr.  Corwin,  by  my  advice,  went  to 
his  room.  But,  the  old  lady  coming  in,  and  being 
told  what  he  had  said,  exclaimed, — "Kick  the  wretch 
out  of  the  house  !  It  is  bad  enough  to  have  a  mis- 
erable nigger-lover  in  the  house  I  Go  up  stairs,  and 
whip  the  miscreant,  or  I  will  do  it  myself,  if  I  am 


IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL.  389 

an  old  woman  ! "  My  entreaties  to  spare  him  were 
in  vain.  They  did  offer  to  accept  an  apology.  I- 
proposed  to  make  one  for  my  friend,  but  he  heard 
me,  and  called  out, — "Not  a  word  of  apology  ;  all  I 
said  was  true,  and  I  will  stand  by  it."  In  a  moment, 
three  men  and  four  women  were  at  his  bolted  door. 
While  they  were  consulting,  for  a  moment,  whether 
it  were  best  to  force  it,  Mr.  Corwin  found  there  was 
a  back  window,  from  which  he  could  leap  into  the 
garden,  the  distance  being  not  more  than  twelve 
feet.  The  door  was  forced,  but  the  game  had 
escaped. 

The  poor  peddler  could  not  get  over  it.  He  felt 
that  his  leaping  out  of  the  window  was  mean.  "I 
ought  to  have  met  them  single-handed,  and  done  my 
best.  Why,  it  is  the  meanest  transaction  I  was  ever 
guilty  of,  and  I  shall  be  ashamed  of  myself  every 
time  I  look  in  a  mirror  after  this.  A  mean  pol- 
troon !  Eun  from  an  old  hen  and  her  brood  of  chick- 
ens !  I  have  a  miiid  to  go  back,  and  have  it  all  over 
again.  I  had  rather  be  pounded  to  pumice  than  to 
feel  so  meanly  as  I  do  now." 

But  I  told  him  if  he  would  let  me  have  half  an 
hour  alone,  I  thought  something  might  be  done  to 
change  the  current  of  his  feelings,  and  that  he  could 
be  induced  to  let  the  matter  drop  as  it  was. 

On  my  handing  him  the  following  lines,  he  ran  his 


39o  IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 

eyes  over  them,  broke  into  a  hearty  laugh,  and  ex- 
claimed, "That  is  good,  better  than  whipping  the 
whole  tribe.  But  I  will  carry  and  deliver  it  my- 
self to  the  proprietor." 

"No,  you  will  do  no  such  thing.  Uncle  Sam 
will  carry  it  for  you.  Just  put  your  name  to  it, 
give  him  your  residence,  and  invite  him  to  some  of 
your  hospitality  when  he  visits  Ohio." 


AN  APOLOGY 

DEAR  sir,  about  that  must  we  had 

A  night  or  two  ago, 

I  would  have  made  apology, 

But  was  obliged  to  go  ; 

I  had  no  time  to  frame  my  thoughts 

In  shape  to  sue  for  pardon, 

My  haste  was  great,  and  so  \  took 

A  leap  into  the  garden. 

But  now  I  make  my  humblest  bend, 
I'm  sorry  that  I  said  it ; 
I  wish  you'd  tell  your  little  wife 
That  in  my  note  you  read  it ; 


IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL.  -39! 

I'd  write  to  her,  but  that  I'm  sure 
A  wife  of  such  ill-breeding, 
Whatever  her  accomplishments, 
Cannot  be  skilled  in  reading. 

About  the  wenches  I  was  wrong — 

Your  wife's  as  good  as  any, 

And  if  I  had  to  take  my  choice, 

I'd  scarcely  give  a  penny ; 

Your  wife  will  make  the  better  scold, 

The  wench  the  better  mother ; 

But  when  you  come  to  feel  her  lash, 

You'll  wish  you  had  the  other. 


THE  SHIP  OF  STATE. 

[Sung  at  the  Springfield  Convention.] 

HAEK  !  hark  !  a  signal  gun  is  heard, 

Just  out  beyond  the  Fort ; 
The  good  old  ship  of  State,  my  boys, 

Is  coming  into  port : 
With  shattered  sails,  and  anchors  gone, 

I  fear  the  rogues  will  strand  her ; 
She  carries  now  a  sorry  crew, 

And  needs  a  new  commander. 


393' 


IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 

Chorus. — Our  Lincoln  is  the  man — 
Our  Lincoln  is  the  man ; 
With  a  sturdy  mate 
From  the  Pine-Tree  State — 
Our  Lincoln  is  the  man. 

Four  years  ago  she  put  to  sea, 

With  prospects  brightly  beaming, 
Her  hull  was  strong,  her  sails  new-bent, 

And  every  pennant  streaming ; 
She  loved  the  gale,  she  ploughed  the  waves, 

Nor  feared  the  deep's  commotion ; 
Majestic,  nobly  on  she  sailed, 

Proud  mistress  of  the  ocean. 

Chorus. — Buchanan  was  the  man, 
Buchanan  was  the  man, 

But  his  four  3Tears'  trip 
Leaves  a  crippled  ship  — 
Buchanan  was  the  man. 

There's  mutiny  aboard  the  ship, 
There's  feud  no  force  can  smother, 

Their  blood  is  up  to  fever-heat, 
They're  cutting  down  each  other; 

Buchanan  here,  and  Douglas  there, 
Are  belching  forth  their  thunder, 


IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 

While  cunning  rogues  are  sly  at  work, 

In  pocketing  the  plunder. 
Chorus. — Buchanan  is  the  man, 
Buchanan  is  the  man, 
But  November's  sun 
Shall  complete  their  fun — 
Buchanan  is  the  man. 

Our  ship  is  badly  out  of  trim, 

Tis  time  to  caulk  and  grave  her ; 
She's  foul  with  stench  of  human  gore, 

They've  turned  her  to  a  slaver ; 
She's  cruised  about  from  coast  to  coast, 

The  flying  bondman  hunting, 
Until  she's  strained  from  stem  to  stern, 

And  lost  her  sails  and  bunting. 

Chorus. — Old  Abram  is  the  man, 
Old  Abram  is  the  man, 

And  he'll  trim  her  sails 
As  he  split  the  rails — 
Old  Abram  is  the  man. 

We'll  give  her  what  repairs  she  needs — 

A  thorough  overhauling ; 
Her  sordid  crew  shall  be  dismissed 

To  seek  some  honest  calling ; 


393 


394 


JN  CAXP  AXD   HOSPITAL. 

Brave  Lincoln  soon  shall  take  the  helm, 

On  truth  and  right  relying, 
In  calm  or  storm,  in  peace  or  war, 

He'll  keep  her  colors  flying. 
Chorus.  —  Old  Abram  is  the  man, 
Old  Abram  is  the  man, 
With  a  sturdy  mate 
From  the  Pine  Tree  State- 
Old  Abram  is  the  man. 


HAS  FATHER  BEEN  HERE? 

£By  permission  of  G.  D.  RUSSELL  &  Co.,  126  Tremont  Street,  who 
publish  the  Song  in  sheet  music.] 

PLEASE,  Mister  Barkeeper,  has  father  been  here? 

He's  not  been  at  home  for  the  day ; 
'Tis  now  almost  midnight,  and  mother's  in  fear 

Some  accident  keeps  him  away. 
No,  no,  little  stranger,  or  yes,  he's  been  here 

Some  officers  took  him  away ; 
He's  gone  to  the  lock-up  :  I'm  sorry,  my  dear, 

He's  done  something  wicked,  they  say. 

CHORUS. 
Oh  !  'twas  not  my  father  who  did  the  bad  deed, 

Tvvas  drinking  that  maddened  his  brain ; 
Oh  !  let  him  go  home  to  dear  mother,  I  plead ; 

I'm  sure  he'll  not  touch  it  again. 


IN  CAMP  AND    HOSPITAL.  395 

Please,  Mister  Policeman,  my  father  is  lost, 

A  man  says  you  took  him  away ; 
Oh  !  can't  he  go  home,  sir,  and  what  will  it  cost, 

If  mother  will  send  you  the  pay? 
Oh  !  no,  little  pleader,  your  father  can't  go, 

We  put  him  in  prison  to-day  ; 
Go  home  to  your  mother,  and  quick  let  her  know 

What's  keeping  your  father  away.     [Chorus. 

Please  sir,  Mister  Jailer,  please  let  me  go  in, 

They  say  that  my  father's  inside  ; 
I  scarcely  can  tell  how  unhappy  we've  been ; 

We  could  not  feel  worse  had  he  died. 
Please,  sir,  it  was  drinking  that  made  him  do  wrong, 

I'm  sure,  sir,  he  will  drink  no  more. 
Oh  !  just  a  few  minutes,  a  minute's  not  long ; 

But  no  one  would  open  the  door.      [Chorus. 

All  day  the  young  watcher  stood  fast  by  the  door, 

In  vain  with  his  father  to  speak ; 
It  creaked  its  great  hinges  twice  ten  times  or  more, 

As  prison-doors  only  can  creak ; 
Then  speeding  thro'  darkness  to  home  sad  as  death 

A  promise  most  solemn  he  bore  ; 
Dear  mother,  I'll  shun  it  as  long  as  I've  breath, 

I'll  taste  it  and  touch  it  no  more.  [Chorus. 


396  IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 


THERES  A  LITTLE  MOUND. 

[By  permission  of  G.  D.  RUSSELL  &  Co.,  126  Tremont  Street,  who 
publish  the  Song  in  sheet  music.] 

THERE'S  a  fresh  little  mound  near  the  willow, 

Where  at  evening  I  wander  and  weep ; 
There's  a  dear  vacant  spot  on  my  pillow, 

Where  a  sweet  little  face  used  to  sleep. 
There  were  pretty  blue  eyes,  but  they  slumber 

In  silence,  beneath  the  dark  mould, 
And  the  little  pet  lamb  of  our  number 

Has  gone  to  the  heavenly  fold. 

Do  I  dream  when  in  sleep  I  behold  her, 

With  a  beauty  so  fresh  and  divine ; 
When  so  close  to  my  heart  I  infold  her, 

And  feel  her  soft  lips  upon  mine  ? 
When  so  loving  those  gentle  eyes  glisten, 

That  my  vision  is  lost  in  my  tears, 
And  bewilder'd,  enraptured  I  listen 

To  a  voice  from  the  spirit's  bright  spheres. 

There's  a  silence  in  parlor  and  chamber, 

There's  a  sadness  in  every  room ; 
Oh  !  I  know  'twas  the  Father  that  claim'd  her, 

Yet  ev'ry  thing's  burden'd  with  gloom ; 


IN   CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL.  397 

But  I'll  not  be  a  comfortless  mourner, 

Nor  longer  brood  over  my  pain ; 
For  I  know  where  the  angels  have  borne  her, 

And  soon  I  shall  see  her  again. 


HEAVEN  OUR  HOME. 

[By  permission  of  GEO.  D.  KUSSELL  &  Co.,  126  Tremont  Street, 
Boston,  who  publish  it  in  sheet  music.] 

AUTUMN'S  pale  leaves,  withered  and  dying, 

Bloom  of  the  lily,  that  lasts  but  a  day ; 
Mists  of  the  morn,  on  the  breeze  flying, 

Tell  us  how  swiftly  we're  passing  away ; 
Beautiful  things,  born  but  to  perish, 

Go  as  the  snow-flake  is  lost  in  the  foam, 
Passing  away,  all  that  we  cherish, 

Att  things  are  telling  that  earth's  not  our  home. 
Heaven  our  home  !     Heaven  our  home  ! 
Grasping  at  phantoms  not  long  shall  we  roam ; 
Heaven  our  home  !     Heaven  our  home  ! 
Soon  we'll  be  going  to  Heaven  our  home. 

Beautiful  earth,  dearly  we  love  it, 

Though  in  its  bosom  we  shortly  must  lie ; 

Teeming  with  forms  angels  might  covet, 
Yet  with  the  grasping  they  wither  and  die  ; 


98  /A~   CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 

Beautiful  earth  !  thou  canst  not  hold  us  ! 

Faith,  that  looks  upward  to  Heaven's  high  dome, 
See  outstretched  arms,  soon  to  infold  us ; 

How  can  we  murmur  that  earth's  not  our  home  ? 
Heaven  our  home  !     Heaven  our  home  ! 
Grasping  at  phantoms  not  long  shall  we  roam ; 
Heaven  our  home  !     Heaven  our  tome  ! 
Soon  we'll  be  going  to  Heaven  our  home. 

List  the  famt  tones,  nearer  and  nearer ! 

Earth  has  no  voices  with  music  like  this ; 
Thrillingly  sweet,  clearer  and  clearer, 

Angels  are  hymning  their  chorus  of  bliss  I 
Rapturous  sight,  over  the  river  ! 

Frosts  cannot  wither,  nor  age  bring  decay ; 
Beautiful  things  bloom  on  forever ; 
Nothing  in  Heaven  is  passing  away ! 
Heaven  our  home  !     Heaven  our  home*! 
Grasping  at  phantoms  not  long  shall  we  roam ; 
Heaven  our  home  !     Heaven  our  home  ! 
Soon  we'll  be  going  to  Heaven  our  home. 


IN  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 


DOWN  BY  THE  SEA. 


399 


[By  permission  of  G.  D.  KUSSELL  &  Co.,  126  Tremont  Street,  who 
publish  the  Song  in  sheet  music.] 

THERE'S  a  pretty  little  cottage  on  the  lawn  by  the  sea, 

Down  by  the  sea,  down  by  the  sea ; 

There's  a  bright-eyed  little  beauty,  who  is  watching 

for  me, 

Down  by  the  sea,  down  by  the  sea ; 
Homeward  we're  speeding,  dangers  unheeding, 
Proudly  our  vessel  careers  through  the  brine, 
Lov'd  ones  shall  meet  us,  pure  lips  shall  greet  us, 
Eyes  that  are  brimming,  eyes  that  are  brimming, 
Eyes  that  are  brimming  shall  thrill  us  like  wine. 

CHORUS. 

O,  that  pretty  little  cottage  on  the  lawn  by  the  sea, 
Down  by  the  sea,  down  by  the  sea, 
O,  that  bright-eyed  little  beauty  who  is  watching 

for  me, 
Down  by  the  sea,  down  by  the  sea. 

There's  the  neatest  little  garden  near  the  cot  by  the 

sea, 

Down  by  the  sea,  down  by  the  sea, 
Where   the   choicest  flowers   blooming,  keep  their 

fragrance  for  me, 
Down  by  the  sea,  down  by  the  sea ; 


4oo 


IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 


Vines  of  her  trailing,  creep  up  the  railing, 
Honey-bees  cluster  to  sip  of  her  flow'rs, 
Sewing  and  humming,  words  of  my  coming, 
Hoping  and  patient,  hoping  and  patient, 
Hoping  and  patient,  yet  counting  the  hours. 

[  Chorus. 

There's  a  shady  little  look-out  on  the  knoll  by  the  sea, 

Down  by  the  sea,  down  by  the  sea ; 

Ev'ry  ev'ning  thro'  the  twilight,  there  she  watches 

for  me, 

Down  by  the  sea,  down  by  the  sea ; 
O,  could  I  follow,  swift  as  the  swallow, 
Paths  that  my  fancy  makes  over  the  main, 
Ere  the  first  sunbeams  brighten  the  hill-streams, 
True  as  we  parted,  true  as  we  parted, 
True  as  we  parted,  I'd  clasp  her  again. 

[Chorus. 


IN  VAMP  AND  HOSPITAL.  401 


THE 'UNION  FOREVER. 

OUE  country,  blest  land,  the  favored  of  nations, 

Baptized  in  the  blood  of  the  brave  and  the  free ; 
To  Him  whose  right  hand  sustains  thy  foundations, 

Our  prayers  shall  ascend,  O,  our  country,  for  thee'! 
O  !  land  of  the  free,  how  dearly  we  love  it ; 

By  Treason's  vile  foot  it  shall  never  be  trod ; 
To  die  for  our  flag,  the  honor  we'll  covet, 

Our  lives  for  our  country,  our  souls  to  our  God. 

CHORUS. 

The  Union,  the  Union,  the  Union  forever ! 

The  bond  of  our  fathers  no  treason  shall  sever ; 
The  star-spangled  banner  shall  ever  wave  o'er  us, 
From  fortress  and  steeple,  re-echo  the  chorus,  — 

Hurrah  !  hurrah  !  the  Union  forever  ! 

Thy  sunshine  ha*s  warmed,  thy  strong  arm  protected, 

When  dangers  surround  we  will  spring  at  the  foe  ; 
Exultant  our  shout  that  we  are  elected 

To  strike  for  our  flag,  though  we  fall  with  the 

blow; 
That  flag  as  revered  as  the  mothers  who  bore  us, 

No  star  shall  e'er  fade  from  its  heaven-dyed  blue ; 
The  hand  that  would  clutch  shall  wither  before  us, 

And  woe  to  the  madmen  who  dare  strike  anew ! 

[  Chorus. 


4o2  IN  dAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 

Bear  witness,  our  sires,  beneath  the  turf  sleeping, 

Forever  your  flag  shall  wave  spotless,  untorn ; 
Your  long-rusted  swords  from  scabbards  are  leaping, 

To  follow  and  smite  where  our  banner  is  borne  ; 
While  Bunker's  spire  guards  its  patriot  ashes, 

While  Lexington's  grandsons   have   arms  to  be 

nerved, 
While  foam  from  the  sea  o'er  Plymouth  Rock  dashes, 

The  Union,  it  must  be,  it  shall  be  preserved. 

[Chorus. 


THERE'S  ROOM  FOR  ALL,  AND  ROOM  TO  SPARE. 

WE  hear  them  there,  we  hear  them  there ; 
They  shout  amicl.  their  praise  and  prayer, 
M  There's  room  for  all,  and  room  to  spare  ! " 
And  music  of  delicious  notes, 
Outgushing  from  seraphic  throats, 
Across  the  dreaded  Jordan  floats  ; 
We  hear  them  there,  we  hear  them  there. 

We  see  them  there,  we  see  them  there  ; 
And  though  their  hosts  more  countless  are 
Than  ocean-drops,  there's  room  to  spare  ! 


CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 


4°3 


With  blooming  cheeks  and  brows  so  fair, 
With  fadeless  flowers  in  golden  hair, 
And  beckoning  us  their  bliss  to  share, 
We  see  them  there,  we  see  them  there. 

We'll  meet  them  there,  we'll  meet  them  there ; 
And  back  to  earth  the  tidings  bear, 
M  There's  room  for  all,  and  room  to  spare  !  " 
We'll  sing  with  them  heaven's  sweetest  strains, 
And  roam  with  them  the  flowery  plains, 
And  tell  who  cleansed  us  from  our  stains ; 
We'll  meet  them  there,  we'll  meet  them  there. 

We'll  know  them  there,  we'll  know  them  there ; 

Within  our  Father's  mansion,  where 

There's  room  for  all,  and  room  to  spare. 

Long-parted  friends  again  embrace, 

Divinest  joy  illumes  each  face, 

The  theme  of  all,  Redeeming  Grace ; 

We'll  know  them  there,  we'll  know  them  there. 


4°4 


N  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 


SWEET  CHILD  OF  THE  GLEN. 


OVER  the  meadow  she  skips  like  a  fairy, 

Bright  as  the  daisies  that  spring  in  her  way ; 
Heart  full  of  sunshine,  my  silver- voiced  Mary 

Carols  her  song,  like  a  bird  thro'  the  day ; 
My  sweet  little  Mary,  with  voice  so  entrancing, 

I  list  and  live  over  my  boyhood  again ; 
My  gray  locks  forgetting,  my  heart  goes  to  dancing, 

So  thrilling  thy  music,  sweet  child  of  the  glen. 

Once,  in  my  childhood,  I  had  a  dear  Mary, 

Guileless  and  sweet  as  a  rose  just  abloom ; 
Gushing  with  song  like  the  blithest  canary, 

Fair  as  the  fairest  e'er  laid  iu  the  tomb  : 
How  often  it  seemeth  some  angel's  been  bringing 

The  pet  of  my  youth  to  this  cold  world  again, 
That  over  the  meadow  she's  skipping  and  singing  ! 

But  no,  'tis  another,  the  child  of  the  glen. 

Gray  locks  are  whitening,  and  time's  busy  fingers, 

Writing  life's  ledger,  have  reached  the  last  page ; 
Yet  in  my  childhood  my  memory  lingers, 

Almost  forgetting  the  furrows  of  age  : 
With  limbs  never  weary,  o'er  hill-tops  I'm  rambling, 

I'm  climbing  to  peep  at  the  nest  of  the  wren  ; 
I'm  chasing  pet  lambs  while  I  mimic  their  gambling : 

But  hushed  is  her  song !  I'm  an  old  man  again. 


IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 


THE  PEISONER'S  LAMENT. 


4°5 


[By  permission  of  GEO.  D.  KCSSELL  &  Co.,  126  Tremont  Street, 
Boston,  who  publish  it  in  sheet  music.] 

'Tis  Sabbath  morn,  and  tolls  the  bell 

Its  invitations  free ; 

But  why  come  they  to  my  lone  cell  ? 

They  cannot  be  for  me ; 

These  iron  bars,  these  walls  of  stone, 

To  move  them  who  shall  dare  ? 

So  I  must  sing  my  hymn  alone, 

Alone  must  breathe  my  prayer. 

The  moving  throngs  now  heed  the  chimes, 

And  seek  the  house  of  prayer ; 

Oh !.  what  care  they  for  me  whose  crimes 

Have  plunged  me  in  despair? 

No  one  looks  in  with  pitying  eye, 

No  friendly  face  I  see, 

And  heedlessly  all  pass  me  by, 

There's  no  one  cares  for  me. 

See,  yonder  goes  a  happy  boy  ! 
His  mother  by  his  side  ! 
Her  step  is  light,  her  eye  beams  joy, 
Her  bosom  swells  with  pride ; 


406  IK  CAMP  AND   HOSPITAL. 

Oh,  could  I  see  my  own  sweet  child  I 
And  take  him  on  my  knee, 
And  hear  once  more  his  prattle  wild, 
I'd  fancy  I  were  free  ! 

I  know  my  Mary  loves  me  yet ; 

Perhaps  she'll  come  to-day ; 

A  heart  like  hers  can  ne'er  forget, 

Though  e'er  so  far  away. 

She'll  bring  a  kiss  for  my  pale  -cheeks, 

And  words  my  heart  to  cheer, 

Such  words  as  none  but  Mary  speaks, 

And  angels  love  to  hear. 

My  child  will  bring  the  choicest  flowers 

To  deck  his  father's  cell, 

And  how  to  spend  the  gloomy  hours 

The  little  prattler  '11  tell. 

But  hush  !  'tis  all  an  idle  dream, 

They'll  not  be  here  to-day ; 

Though  near  my  cell  they  ever  seem, 

They're  very  far  away. 


IN  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL.  407 


I  FEEL  TM  GROWING  OLD,  LIZZIE. 


[By  permission  of  ROOT  &  CADY,  who  own  Copyright.  This  and 
all  the  preceding  songs,  by  E.  W.  LOCKE,  may  be  obtained  of 
the  Publishers  of  this  book.] 


I  FEEL  I'm  growing  old,  Lizzie, 

My  noon  of  life  is  past ; 
The  bloom  has  left  my  cheek,  Lizzie, 

My  hair  is  whitening  fast ; 
But  my  heart  beats  quick  and  warm,  Lizzie, 

As  when  we  both  were  young, 
And  words  of  truest  love,  Lizzie, 

Are  ever  on  my  tongue  ! 

What  though  the  brow  be  scarred,  Lizzie, 

And  bent  by  age  the  form ; 
What  though  the  eye  be  dim,  Lizzie, 

The  heart  may  yet  be  warm ; 
True  love  fades  not  with  youth,  Lizzie, 

But  deepens  to  life's  even ; 
'Tis  here  an  opening  bud,  Lizzie, 

And  only  blooms  in  heaven  I 


408  W  CAMP  AND  HOSPITAL. 

Our  life  is  on  the  wane,  Lizzie, 

And  briefer  grow  the  hours ; 
Though  thorns  be  in  our  way,  Lizzie, 

We'll  only  pluck  the  flowers ; 
We'll  love  as  young  hearts  love,  Lizzie, 

And  bravely  meet  each  storm ; 
And  die  as  we  have  lived,  Lizzie, 

With  hearts  as  true,  as  warm  I 


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